Things Left Behind
by Renfro Calhoun
Summary: Prior to the clash at Naggiar, a team of Gallian scouts were dispatched to investigate Imperial activity near Gallia's southern border. What transpired would remain a secret until well after the war.
1. Prologue

**Things Left Behind**

A Valkyria Chronicles fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun

_Notes: Howdy-do, folks! Yes, after yet another lengthy, unintended hiatus I'm back. With any luck I'll actually get some writing done this time! As you might have noticed, this is my first foray into Valkyria Chronicles; late to the party on the series, but I fell in love with it all the same. This idea's been rattling around in my head for months now, and only recently have I been able to hammer out the details. While I'm doing my best to keep everything nice and canon-y, I'll gladly accept any comments and criticism if I miss something.  
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_For those of you who remember it, no, I haven't given up on .Hack/Rejoinder. Apart from having to edit several chapters for consistency, I sort of hit the block hard lately. Blame falls partly on work for being, well, rather depressing, but in the end it's my responsibility. I will see that story through to the end, as I will for this. As for how long that'll take... all I can do is my best, and I ask that you kindly bear with me._

_Incidentally, I turn 30 in a couple days. It's tough getting old.  
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_As always, I own none of the characters or ideas from the games. They are used without permission, but with the utmost respect._

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

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><p><em>"There is always more to the story. That, above all, has been the guiding principle of my work in the field: to tell the truth of it, from the first tank that rolled across the border to the last shot fired to repel it. Sometimes the truth leads you to ugly places, dark corners of history perhaps better left unearthed. A people, over time, can forget much of what happened in the past, but for those there in the moment, those pulling the trigger and taking the bullet, the memory very often lives on.<em>

_So it is with Rhodall and those who were sent there."_

_- Irene Koller, "On the Gallian Front"_

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><p>She watched, disinterested, as raindrops tapped against the glass. Her own breath coated the window in a thin fog, partly veiling the passing buildings outside. The rhythmic thumping of wheels on train tracks might have lulled her to sleep, if not for the chatter in her brain: questions to ask, details to clarify.<p>

Already slowing, the train gradually pulled to a halt at the weatherbeaten platform. The stop caused the package on the seat with her to slide, and she put a hand down to keep it in place. And a delivery to make, she thought with a tiny smile.

"Now arriving at Shelway!" belted the portly, uniformed conductor by the doors. He quickly glanced over the mostly empty seats, nodding to the few passengers that stood up. "Shelway! Make sure you have your passports with you!"

_My stop._ Package in hand she made her way to the exit, digging a compact umbrella out from her satchel. Last in line, she hopped out onto the enclosed platform, seemingly undisturbed by the cold and gray around her.

Her stay in the rain was short-lived, with the other passengers quickly leading her to a small office helpfully marked with a "Customs" sign. The two guards opposite the doors regarded her curiously - perhaps more the camera case around her neck - but said nothing as she pushed through.

_Quite the cheery place,_ she thought as she waited her turn. It figures he wouldn't end up somewhere sunny. _Oh well. C'mon Irene, you've been through worse._

"Next," called the young customs agent, a bookish fellow of little distinction save for the glasses he wore. His brow furrowed for a second upon seeing her, as if he were pondering something intensely only to let it drop just as suddenly. "Name?"

Stowing her umbrella, she produced a well-worn and up-to-date passport bearing her name and likeness. "Irene Koller," she said for emphasis.

He nodded, taking the document and inking the stamp in his free hand. "Purpose?" he asked flatly, flipping to a blank page.

"Research."

He pressed the stamp down, then looked at up her with renewed interest. Something sparked behind his eyes, two and two coming together. "Wait... Koller. The reporter?"

Irene mirrored the smile on her passport, pleased that someone so far from Gallia had heard of her. "The one and only."

"Yeah, I've heard of you," he said, a bit of a smile climbing onto his own face. "Used to be Irene Ellet, right? 'The Writing on the Wall?' A lot of embedded journalists come through here, your name comes up a lot."

She stole a quick glance at the clerk's nameplate: Oliver Sutton. "Good things, I hope," she said under her breath.

He handed back her passport. "What brings you to Shelway? Research, you said?"

"Yep. It's a long story - or, it'll be a long story, at least - but I needed to verify a few things here. Could you tell me the fastest way to Wellington Memorial Hospital?"

Judging by the raised eyebrow, the word hospital, or perhaps the name, piqued the young man's interest. "It's about six blocks north of here and a couple over, at the intersection of seventh and... Peltor, that's it. There's a map stand near the door, help yourself."

"Thanks," she bowed her head slightly and stepped away from the counter. "Well, if you'll pardon me."

"Sure thing. Have a nice day, Ms. Koller!"

Irene snapped up one of the maps and made her way to the streetside exit. The cold air was little improvement over that of the stuffy customs office, though the recognition had been a pleasant surprise. Spirits buoyed, she scanned the map excitedly and spotted the hospital in question: six up and two over, as the clerk had said.

Stowing her documents, she dug out her umbrella again and hefted it skyward, taking her first official steps into Federation territory. The details of her research topic crept to the forefront of her mind, a curious subject that provided much gossip but little fact amongst Squad 7. Preoccupied with the clash at Naggiar, the reporter had paid little attention to the four alleged volunteers at first; just another reconnaissance effort, easily overshadowed in the revelations that followed.

Drawing the package in close, Irene hopped over a small but growing puddle and made haste across the street. What began as idle chatter drew more pointed inquiries about the recon team, and few consistent details. "Something happened at Rhodall," one soldier had said. "Nobody knows exactly what, but it shook up the Captain pretty bad. Gunther, too."

Irene's inquisitive mind kept her from being too concerned, but something about Varrot's tight-lipped "Not now, Ellet," had unsettled the reporter. She recalled the distant look in Welkin's eyes, followed by a dispassionate shake of the head. 'Later,' he had mouthed.

Later never came, again lost in the wake of greater things, but the questions persisted. Something had gone very wrong, and for once it had little to do with a mad prince or the Valkyrur. Even after Maximillian's defeat atop the Marmota, a strange buzz surrounded the topic of Rhodall. Civilians reported extensive damage to the city, far more than was suffered during the local militia's retreat. Army investigators remained silent about their findings, save that an Imperial force had been encountered and destroyed.

She sighed as her feet carried her up the rain-slick sidewalk, her thoughts carrying her to equally unpleasant places. Only rumblings of civil war could fully silence the rumors, shocking anew a nation already crippled. For Irene the matter lingered like a splinter in the mind, aggravated as she collected research for her book. It had taken her months to merely dredge up the names of the participants, and longer still for proper interviews. The important details matched, but of the four, only one seemed eager to help.

More importantly, only one had evidence and a name, both of which were currently nestled under the reporter's arm.

_"If you had this all the time, why didn't you tell anybody?"_ she remembered asking.

_"It took a long time to repair, and someone else needs it more,"_ was the simple, honest reply; uncharacteristic of the speaker.

_"Who?"_

_"...a friend. Someone important to me."_

Before long, Irene found herself before the hospital. In contrast to the clustered apartments and storefronts, Wellington contented itself to sprawl: an older, more imposing structure at the intersection, with clearly newer wings stretching up the block in each direction. Lights over the entrance flickered uneasily, attesting to the building's age. Waiting for a truck to pass, she took another glance at the package and the name unsteadily printed on its surface.

_Okay Lloyd,_ she thought, starting towards the hospital entrance. _Let's hope you're taking visitors._


	2. Covering the Bases

**Things Left Behind**

A Valkyria Chronicles fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun

_Notes: And so the story begins in earnest. While the prologue was a post-game snippet, the bulk of this story happens just prior to Chapter 13, the Clash at Naggiar. For the curious, the ideas behind this come from a mix of sources, among which are the movie Sahara and the game World in Conflict.  
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_Anyway, let us continue. As always, I own none of the characters or ideas from the games. They are used without permission, but with the utmost respect._

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><p><strong>Covering the Bases<strong>

Mission time: -2 minutes, 22:56 hours

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><p><em>"In preparation for the clash at Naggiar, the Gallian army ordered a series of scouting missions to watch for potential flanking maneuvers. Several attempts were halted, forcing the Empire to consolidate its forces and attack directly, but Gallia was unable to force a breach of her own. Scout teams were thus recalled alongside the militia to reinforce the front line, with both armies positioning for what would be a devastating battle. However, a few teams reported unusual activity near the small border town of Rhodall, the nature of which quickly got the attention of senior officers.<em>

_Situated close to both Imperial and Federation territories, Rhodall had bountiful farmland and a sizable population. The town itself was of little strategic value, having been evacuated early in the war due to poor defensive terrain. Although scouts in neighboring regions did not encounter any Imperials, they did find evidence of troop movements and weapons fire. Curiously, these pointed away from Naggiar and towards Rhodall, and speculation was that the Empire was running its own scouting efforts through the area. Shortly before the battle began, a small unit from Squad 7 was dispatched to investigate, acting under the assumption that this was another flanking attempt._

_The truth would be buried, in part literally, until the end of the war."_

_- Irene Koller, "On the Gallian Front"_

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><p>His eyes drooped shut, an attempt to shut out the noisy growl of the engine. The armored vehicle bounced roughly over a pothole in protest, nearly causing him to bite his tongue. Frowning, the young soldier turned his thoughts back to the plan, and he could almost hear Captain Varrot's voice again. <em>The entry point's on the edge of town from the northwest. Survey the outlying buildings and work your way in. If any Imperials are sighted, retreat and signal for extraction.<em>

Alex snorted to himself. _If any Imperials are sighted, I'm taking them out._

There was certainly fine print to consider, but he left that up to the carrier's other occupants. Opposite him he could just hear the quiet snoring of dancer-turned-scout Freesia, her catnap a sign of the long ride from the Naggiar command post. Fellow scout and squad leader Juno, seated closer to the front, carefully arranged what sounded like a map. And the rustling from the sniper to his left told him Oscar was having a hard time sitting still, by anticipation or anxiety.

_Juno's probably the only one taking this seriously,_ he thought, understanding why she had been picked to lead the squad of four. _She can have it. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we get back to the fight that matters._

The ride smoothed out as the APC hit an intact stretch of road, the noise dropping enough for Alex to hear a soft sigh from Juno. He smirked, his eyes still closed. _And the sooner she gets back to stalking Welkin._

"We're coming up on the outskirts," called the driver. "Still no activity."

Juno folded up the map and lightly rapped it over Freesia's knee, startling her awake. "Get ready, we're almost there." To the driver she answered, "Understood. Drop us off just north of grid A-4, we'll go the rest of the way on foot."

Blinking her eyes clear, Freesia glanced sharply at Juno before turning to the shocktrooper across from her. "Alex, you awake?"

"Yeah," he answered with a hint of annoyance, sitting up straight. "Just wondering why the army couldn't do its own scouting this time."

"Everybody's tied up with the main offensive at Naggiar," said Oscar matter-of-factly, snatching up his rifle from the seat next to him.

Alex did likewise with his gun, brushing a spot of dust off the iron sights. "And that's where we should be. The militia's been doing all the dirty work. If anybody is actually ready to take the Empire head-on, it's us."

"I suppose they have to send somebody," Freesia pointed out, craning her neck towards the nearest window. Absently, she brushed a few short strands of raven-colored hair off her forehead. "No harm in warming up before the show begins."

Oscar patted the ammo pouches strapped to his side, making sure they were still fastened shut. "Frankly I hope this is a dead end," he added, mostly to himself. A close observer may have noticed one of his hands quivering. "I get shot at enough as it is."

"Relax, Alex," Juno said with a stern look, pressing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. "There will be plenty of fighting left for us when we get back. Besides, Welkin picked us specifically for this. He wouldn't send us if he didn't think it was important."

Alex fiddled with the bolt of his weapon, carefully testing for potential jams. "Or if he didn't have any choice."

The blonde squad leader looked away and shook her head, but stopped herself from replying as she felt the vehicle slowing down. Through the front window she saw little black lumps silhouetted on the horizon: buildings, almost invisible against the clear night sky. The road ahead went dark as the driver cut his headlights.

"A-4 is just ahead. Everybody load up and stand by."

Juno nodded, unbuckling her harness and grabbing a handhold. "You heard him."

Alex took the lead as the four stood up and filed towards the APC's rear door, steadying themselves as the vehicle slowed to a halt. They prepared in a chorus of clicking equipment and sliding rifle bolts, and soon the engine had fallen to a gentle purr.

"End of the line, Rhodall outskirts," called the driver. "See you at the rally point, guys. Good hunting!"

Alex shoved the heavy door open, letting the dim light of the APC spill feebly onto the dry, dusty road. He hit the ground and immediately scrambled around the vehicle, taking a knee and scanning the horizon from down the barrel. Three sets of footsteps joined him as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he relaxed as he saw nothing that could pass for a human. "Looks clear," he confirmed to his companions.

"Good. Alex, you're up front," said Juno. "Oscar, you're with me. Freesia, hang back a bit and cover the rear. Let's move out."

The shocktrooper took point, leading the group towards the dark, distant buildings. Alex heard the vehicle shift gears behind him and roll out to a safe distance, and he wanted nothing more than to be back inside, out of boredom rather than fear. _The town looks as dead as I thought it would. This is a waste of time._

Freesia waited a few seconds before following the others, shifting her feet to find her balance on the loose soil. For her part she did feel apprehensive, more at the relative silence than the nature of their task. From stage and music to combat and gunfire, she was accustomed to being seen before being heard; the quiet one amidst the noise. Out in the open every rustle of clothing, every gust of wind, every boot on the dirt rang louder in her ears.

_"Why at night, sir?"_ she remembered asking. _"Wouldn't it make more sense to search during the day?"_

_"W__e're short on time, and aside from that there's no cover on the approach to town. If the Imperials are already there, you'll need the cover of dark to get close."_

Counting the minutes, Juno kept a wary eye on the town as they ventured into knee-high grass. A small hill sat on the far side of the approach, and she half expected it to light up with artillery fire the second she let her guard down. No stranger to cliche, she struggled to keep from thinking it was a little too quiet. The impromptu squad leader forced her thoughts to the mission, recalling the layout she had spent hours trying to memorize.

_The town hall's the one with the clock tower. If there's anything going on here, that will be the first place to look. I wonder if..._

Her thoughts came to a stop as she saw Alex do the same. He abruptly held up a hand, motioning for silence. The squad obediently held fast, their soft-quiet movements giving way to the wind brushing over the grass. Straining her ears, Juno heard nothing beyond that.

"Alex," she hissed. "What is it?"

No response. She saw his head turn left, staring at or beyond the nearest building. Seconds passed without comment, until he finally said, "Nevermind. Thought I heard something."

"What was it?" asked Oscar, his own suspicions aroused.

Alex simply shook his head, glancing back to face his team. "Imagining things, I think." Moonlight painted his face, and for a moment the shocktrooper showed a hint of worry. "I hope."

Juno frowned, but motioned forward. "Let's keep moving."

The recon team resumed its pace, soon passing outlying structures and nearing the town proper. A small footbridge crossed a creek, the babbling waters briefly adding to the noise of the night. From the rear, Freesia found herself reacting to every sound out of place, briefly wondering if she too had heard something.

"Know what I don't like?" she whispered. "Why are there no animals? No birds or anything? I've barely heard a cricket in the past few minutes."

"I thought you hated bugs," said Oscar.

"I hate silence," she corrected, trying to keep her eyes on the horizon. "It's too quiet out here."

"You're welcome to shoot if you'd like to make noise," Alex called from the front, just loud enough to make the sarcasm clear.

"Cut the chatter," Juno shot back to her comrades. "Town square's a good four blocks in. Keep your eyes peeled, everybody."

Before long the grass had faded to dirt, soon followed by proper roads. All eyes and rifles were on an empty watchtower, its side ripped open by a stray mortar round but otherwise still intact and empty.

"That look recent?" asked Alex.

Juno shook her head. "No, it'd still be burning otherwise. The Imperials were here before when the militia fled, and only a few shots were fired. They consolidated positions nearby but never actually took the town, or so we thought."

Alex blinked. "How do you know that?"

"Some of us paid attention during the briefing," she admonished in hushed tones. "Let's go."

"Yeah, yeah, I... wait." He froze again, turning an ear towards nothing anyone could see. "There it is again."

This time everyone heard it, a distant rumbling and grinding of big and heavy things rolling along pavement. The Gallian scouts exchanged looks, all coming to the same conclusion: vehicles, lots of them, and almost certainly tanks among them.

"I don't suppose there's any chance those are ours?" Oscar asked, now clearly nervous.

"Sure, and there's a chance we might find buried treasure here," Alex shot back. "But I wouldn't count on that, either."

Juno cleared her throat, feeling the first disruption to her sense of command. "All right, we still have to find out what's happening. The clock tower at the town hall has the clearest view, let's get there and see what we can see."

The block passed silently, the moon providing barely enough light to show an alley across from them. At Juno's prompting they carefully filed into it, squeezing through sturdy two-story dwellings and into the next darkened avenue. The noises grew louder, more numerous, and now punctuated by indistinct shouting. Freesia, the most sensitive to the ground beneath her, swore she could feel the very stones in the street trembling. Her trained ears betrayed her, telling her the engines were coming from multiple directions, possibly even up the street they just came through.

Amidst her disbelief she found herself wishing for the silence again. "Juno, this is bad," she heard Oscar say.

Jaw firmly set, Juno nodded and tightened her hold on her rifle. "I know."

Something clicked loudly in the night, a noise at once mechanical and electrical that quickly repeated itself. Points of light abruptly pierced the darkness, rapidly working their way towards the startled Gallians. The streetlights turned on one by one, ringing the city and working their way in.

"The power," Alex muttered. "What in the world is going on here?"

"Off the street, everybody into the far alley, now!" Juno practically barked, her well-lit expression showing the first signs of panic.

Bewilderment about them, the team abandoned any attempt to keep silent as they rushed for the corner of a brick-and-mortar storefront. Leading with his barrel, Alex pressed on into the alley. One of his boots stepped in something wet and squishy, and he spared a microsecond to cringe at the thought of cleaning it. "Looks clear up ahead," he said to the others, who filed in behind him. "Now what?"

Juno took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Stand fast."

Engines suddenly halted, allowing the sounds of infantry to rise above them. Nobody was close enough to pick out words, but Oscar got the impression something was happening. "We need to get out of here. Whatever this is, we're way outnumbered, and..." he trailed off as he looked skyward, eyes going wide and breath catching in his throat.

"I know, just keep quiet," said Juno, throwing a quick glance at him. She started to speak again when she noticed his stare. "Oscar, what..."

Other eyes shot upward, seeing reddish-orange streaks over the rooftops; their origin unknown, but intent clear. The cry rang out as the first salvo arced towards the ground, clear enough for even the Gallians to hear.

"INCOMING!"


	3. Hasty Arrangements

**Things Left Behind**

A Valkyria Chronicles fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun

_Notes: Trying a different format since straight text files proved annoying to edit once uploaded. That aside, adding original characters is always a dicey proposition. On the one hand they risk overtaking the story you're trying to tell, or getting too much focus over the series cast. On the other they're an indispensible part of a good writer's toolbox: story depth with a personal face, a compelling villain, interesting backstory, or just people you can safely kill to show how serious things are getting._

_Incidentally, I'd pay DLC money for a campaign editor in the VC engine. This whole thing started as a dreamed-up side campaign, and if you squint you can still see the individual mission breaks. Disclaimer still holds: I own none of the characters or ideas from the games. They are used without permission, but with the utmost respect._

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><p><strong>Hasty Arrangements<strong>

Mission time: +22 minutes, 23:20 hours

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><p><em>"Of course we were scared. We were there to recon and had stumbled into something bigger than we could have imagined. The whole city started blowing up around us. I don't know how Juno kept it together, I might've just started running otherwise. I'm no coward, I've been in combat before, but it's different when you don't have any support. When it's just you and the people next to you."<em>

_"I suppose you found what you were looking for."_

_"And that should've been the end of it. It might have been, if not for the Imperials cutting off all the easy ways out of town. From the firepower they were throwing at it, you'd think they were trying to wipe it off the map. Man, if only it was that simple."_

_"Who exactly were the Imperials fighting?"_

_"The last people in the world any of us wanted to see."_

_- Recorded excerpt of interview, PFC Alex "Bird" Raymond_

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><p>Rockets fell from the skies, painting fiery red streaks over the stars as they plummeted to the town below. A stray rocket smacked into the alley wall far above the Gallians, scattering chunks of debris down in a deafening, ground-shaking explosion. Alex felt half of a brick peg him on the shoulder, causing him to stumble and nearly collide with Oscar's back.<p>

"Come on, keep going!" shouted Juno at the fore, haphazardly dashing into the open street and throwing hasty glances each way. "We've got to get out of the strike zone!"

"Where is it even..." Freesia began, cut off as she caught a mouthful of brick dust. "Pfaugh! How did they find us?"

Oscar kept an eye skyward, watching for more jets of fire. "We can't be the target, we're too small. The Imperials must be fighting someone else!"

Following Juno, the team crossed the street to the next alley, searching in vain for an open door or some other cover point. More rockets rained down as the salvo continued, a steady drumbeat of blasts that echoed for miles. Thick plumes of smoke belched up from freshly made fires, adding a burning glow atop the now-flickering streetlights. The intermittent lighting made it all the more startling when a cold metal shadow rolled past the far end of the building, engine snarling and treads grinding.

"Tank!" Juno hissed, her eyes going wide. Frantically she motioned for everyone to stop and turn around, her glasses slipping down her nose.

Alex now found himself at the front of the line, and he all but threw himself back out of the alley. "How did the Empire move in so fast?"

The barrage came to a close as the last few rockets thudded on rooftops, briefly adding their light to the empty, broken street. "That wasn't an Imperial tank!" said Oscar. "They wouldn't be using artillery on their own forces!"

"Then whose was it? The town watch fled months ago," said Freesia, still spitting out dust.

Juno swallowed hard, barely keeping her nerve as she processed what the tank had meant. "We'll sort this out after we get out of here. Back the way we came, let's go!"

Without warning an engine roared from around the corner, the sound of someone flooring the gas. Flickering light from a machine gun threw a silhouette of an armored vehicle on the ground. Within seconds the APC appeared, an all-too-familiar insignia painted on the side. Spotting the fleeing Gallians, her gunner swept the top-mounted MG their way, tracing a sloppy line in the pavement with bullets.

"Imperials!" shouted Oscar, practically shoving Alex to keep moving. "Get to cover!"

"Thought you said they wouldn't be in the strike zone!" the shocktrooper yelled back.

"Do I look like I understand what's going on? Just go!"

Juno, last in line, heard the buzzing of passing bullets as the gunner took aim. No sooner had she entered the alley than she heard the vehicle's engine rev up, the driver turning their way. She briefly wondered why the other three had bunched up only a few feet in, and took a single step herself before seeing the reason: a pile of rubble, blasted free from the building above, had collapsed into their path and cut them off from the adjoining street.

She wanted to slap herself for the mistake. Were the APC to pull up alongside it'd have a clear shot at all four of them. _Damn it! Think, Juno, think! We need to stall that thing!_

"Now what?" cried Alex, looking in vain for a way to scale the jagged chunks of wall.

"Okay, here's the plan!" Juno awkwardly slung her rifle and, somewhat more carefully, dug out a grenade. "I'll try and stall it! Oscar, I need you to snipe that gunner! Alex, Freesia, cover him!"

"That's it? How do we cover him from in here?" Alex protested as Oscar took position behind Juno.

Juno shot him a challenging stare. "I'm taking suggestions," she said flatly, her fingers already on the grenade's pin. "Unless you have one, keep the gunner busy so Oscar can take him out."

Realizing further protest was useless, Alex grumbled and got into position. "Damn it... all right. Just don't miss!"

"Just get him to sit still and I won't," the sniper answered. If not for the noise, the brief stutter in 'just' might have been noticeable.

Headlights spilled across the alley; it was close. Juno flattened herself against the wall. "On three, I throw. Wait for the blast, then hit 'em. Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," said Freesia, thankful she wasn't tasked with sniping the gunner. The others gave similar acknowledgments, Alex looking particularly anxious.

_That MG is armored from the front,_ the shocktrooper thought. _Cover won't work, he needs a distraction._

"One... two... three!"

Juno yanked the pin and popped out of hiding just long enough to spot the APC. With a forceful grunt she heaved the grenade, which twirled end-over-end towards its armored target. The gunner was too slow to return fire, missing the scout once more and, more fatally, ignoring the inbound explosive. Juno's grenade landed neatly beneath the front fender, its fuse silently burning down. Only too late did the driver realize what had happened, and tires squealed as they tried to back up.

The grenade went off first, the undercarriage taking the full force of the blast. The fragments failed to pierce the armor, but the concussion alone rattled the APC and all inside it. One of the tires blew out as the blast wreaked havoc on the axle; not irreparable, but enough of a hinderance to stall the vehicle. Stunned, the gunner didn't immediately open fire as Freesia and Alex sprang into action.

Oscar bent awkwardly around the corner of the building, searching for a clear shot. Although blinded by gunfire, the Imperial was still well protected by the weapon's wide blast shield, and Oscar couldn't see an opening. "I can't hit him!" he called out, tempted to take a shot anyway and hope for the best.

"I knew it," Alex muttered, seeing the MG swivel around to face them. He held fire and impulsively made an addition to the plan. "Freesia, get back! I got this!"

Busy reloading, she started to object only to find the shocktrooper was no longer next to her. "What are you... hey, Alex! Wait!"

Abandoning any sense of caution, Alex broke into a rapid sprint along the vehicle's flank, peppering the gun carriage with short bursts. His SMG rattled and shook as he ran, recoil throwing every other shot wide. Nonetheless, he felt a rush of satisfaction as the heavy weapon spun around towards him and began firing. "That's it, come and get me!" he yelled at the gunner, his voice lost under the withering chatter of .50 caliber rounds.

It didn't take long for the squad to pick up on Alex's gambit. Oscar brought the scope up to his eye, finally seeing the uniform behind the slowly rotating shield. _Crazy bastard,_ he thought briefly before lining the shot up.

The rifle's report echoed up and down the street, standing out all the more as the machine gun went silent. Alex was about to cheer when one of the APC's doors slid open, facing him. Two troopers staggered out, one clutching at his head through the helmet but both armed and ready to fire. The shocktrooper hammered down the trigger only to hear a soft 'click', the mechanism looking for ammo in an empty chamber.

Bangs from his left; more rifle fire intercepted the troopers as Freesia and Juno circled around the stalled vehicle. Both men were on the ground before they could get a single shot off.

Still shaking from adrenaline, Alex fumbled with a fresh magazine as his team rejoined him, watching the APC for any survivors. "Alex, you okay?" asked Juno, averting her eyes from the bleeding, dying soldiers by the door.

"Y-yeah," he said quietly, still hearing the machine gun in his thoughts. He gave a slight nod to Oscar. "Nice shooting, man."

He nodded back, scanning the street for any other targets. "Quick thinking. You're faster than you look."

The shocktrooper managed a weak smile. "They don't call me 'Bird' for nothing."

With the APC stopped, Freesia could faintly hear the popping of rifle fire throughout the city. "They're all over the place," said the dancer, unable to get a fix on the closest one. "Whoever they're fighting, there's a lot of them."

Juno started to speak before more explosions rang out. A distinct whoosh followed a rocket soaring overhead, which passed the buildings around them and struck further down the road. "Another volley! Take cover!"

"The alley's blocked off!" Oscar reminded her. "Where do we go?"

Having no answer at first, she spotted an opening nearby: a door and store window fortuitously blown inwards by a close rocket impact. She gestured to it with her rifle and took the lead again. "This way! We'll take shelter until the barrage stops!"

"And then what?" asked Alex, fighting down the panic inside.

"I have no idea, just get in there!"

A tank barrel thundered on the next block over, giving the tiny recon team all the more incentive to move quickly. Juno pressed through the open door frame into a cluttered, abandoned grocery store, her companions at her back. Catching her breath, she cautiously passed her rifle over the fallen shelves and disused counter, watching for any signs of movement.

With the threat of bombardment momentarily behind them, the rest of the group took up proper formations and swept the darkened room. Guns trembled in nervous hands as each shadowy corner was checked, and Oscar couldn't shake the feeling that someone had noticed their entry. The distant booming of further explosions drifted through the door behind them, almost loud enough to mask the sound of his boots falling on shattered glass.

Spotting no one, the scarred sniper turned to announce the all clear when he saw Freesia abruptly hold a hand up. Everyone froze as she touched a hand to her ear and tilted her head towards the ceiling, and a brief gap in the bombing gave them all time to hear the same thing.

Footsteps, several pairs muffled through the ceiling. Freesia tapped her ear again, then held up four fingers.

Sensing an opportunity, Juno motioned to a set of stairs back by the entrance. "One of them must know what's going on. Let's check it out."

Together the team filed into the foyer, Freesia taking point and slowly beginning to climb the old wooden staircase. Carefully taking each step, she could just hear a man's voice from a room on the next floor. As she neared, the words became clearer, and when at last she could make them out she motioned for everybody to stop.

"...still no word from Foxtrot. Whoever has the launcher, either they don't know or don't care who's in range."

Despite his hushed words, the urgency in the speaker's voice carried clear enough down the stairs. "Look, we're getting pounded out here. We lost most of second platoon in an ambush. Where's the Major?"

Freesia continued her quiet ascent, the gentle tap of her boots still too loud for her liking. She peered over the top bannister, taking in the details of the upper floor and gauging the speaker's position. _Easy does it. Heel-toe, bring it down slow. This isn't your first time on stage._ The words came too easily; the APC had been far too close for comfort, and sneaking up at least four unknowns wasn't helping her keep steady.

A large figure crossed the doorway at the head of the stairs, decked out in a foreboding black uniform, his face mostly concealed behind a matching balaclava. She ducked her head back below the floor, keeping out of sight, and turned towards Juno. Holding up one finger, she then made a fist and pulled it down over her face, indicating the mask.

"Imperials?" asked Juno, to which the dancer shook her head. _Great. So __**now**__ who are we dealing with? Did they hear us on the street?_

"All right, where are we supposed to regroup then?" A short pause, followed by mumbles of dissent. "Sir, with all due respect, that's too... yes sir. Understood. Bravo-six, out."

Alex kept his weapon pointed at the ceiling, ready to fire blindly up through it at the drop of a hat. "What are we doing?" he nervously whispered. "Who's up there?"

_We need answers,_ Juno decided, gesturing to her fellow scout to continue. "Take a closer look, we'll cover you."

Freesia reluctantly crept further up the stairs, watching the doorway for sudden movements. Light spilled in from a window in the adjoining room, the lively reddish glow of a building ablaze. She half expected the boards to creak under her weight, though given how the mission had started she was grateful they didn't collapse outright.

_They're awfully quiet all of a sudden,_ she thought, tiptoeing towards the doorway and flattening herself against the wall. A pair of footsteps paced back and forth from somewhere inside the room, though the others she had heard were curiously silent. That in particular set off her internal alarms, suspecting that she may have been detected; a hit to her pride, but preferable to a more literal injury.

She opted to hold still a few steps away, and not a moment too soon. An inch or so of a sub-machine gun poked through the doorway, its owner sweeping right-to-left over the stairwell. Freesia gently hefted her own trembling rifle to eye level, waiting for the gunner's head to follow the barrel. Her stomach knotted itself in fear as the barrel stuck out further, revealing the gloved hand that held it. _Easy, easy,_ she chanted in her mind, trying in vain to brace herself. Both stage and drill grounds taught her to keep her targets at a distance, largely because a rifle was little help in melee range.

Finally the masked soldier took one step too far, giving Freesia a clear shot at his head. With eyes down the sight she shouted "Hold it!" in as threatening a tone as she could muster, prompting her colleagues below to spring from hiding.

Alex charged up the stairs, aiming through the railing and followed closely by Oscar and Juno. "Drop the gun!" he hollered, almost relieved at having a less-armored target to yell at. "Do it now!"

The soldier stood still, mouthing a frustrated curse at his predicament. As he took stock of his opponents, however, his eyes widened in recognition. "What the... wait, what are you all doing here?" he asked, his deep voice cracking a bit as it rose in confusion. "Oh... oh, shit!"

"Pres, what is it?" called another voice from beyond the doorway, which Freesia recognized as whoever had been talking on the radio.

"I said, drop it!" Alex insisted, stopping him from answering.

He met Alex's intense stare for a moment, then shifted his attention to Freesia. "I'm not putting my gun down," he said slowly, "but I think we need to talk."

"Talk? Who's out there?" the voice asked.

His gun still trained on the masked soldier, Alex gave Juno a questioning look. "Juno, what do we do?"

"You're not gonna believe this, sir. It's the Gallians."

For her part, Juno felt conflicted; doubting the sincerity of the offer, but hopeful that another firefight could be avoided. "All right, let's talk."

"Are you sure about this?" asked Oscar, gradually lowering his rifle as the soldier retreated into the room.

She continued up the stairs to join Freesia at the door. "Not in the least. But we're not going to know what's happening otherwise. Come on."

Caution about them, the Gallians moved single-file through the doorway. As Freesia had indicated, the modestly-furnished apartment held four occupants, all dressed in the same black armor and masks. They watched the Gallian team warily, their weapons at hand but not ready to fire.

"Who are you people?" Juno demanded as soon as everyone had entered. She focused on the nearest man, a tall fellow standing near a backpack-mounted radio on a couch. Wherever they were from, rank markings were at least in common; the dark metal pin on his collar indicated the rank of Captain. Although a mere inch taller than her, his cold, blue-eyed stare and confident posture were intimidating nonetheless.

"Captain Nathan Ballard," he replied firmly, slinging an SMG over his shoulder. He pulled the mask off his wrinkled face, the bits of gray in his curly blonde hair a further indication of his experience. Giving a respectful nod to Juno, he added, "Bravo Company, Atlantic Federation Special Forces."

Although the Gallians didn't visibly react, the memory of Squad 7's last meeting with the Federation was not far from their minds: the attempted kidnapping of Princess Cordelia by disguised commandos. If not for the militia they might have succeeded, and only the ongoing war was enough to table the political fallout for the time being.

Juno did her best to hide her discomfort, though she had a hunch that Ballard saw right through it. "So, Captain, would you care to explain what you're all doing here?" she asked uneasily, looking to reassert control over the situation.

One of the other soldiers, a sturdily built woman carrying an anti-tank lance, began to speak up. "Captain, are you sure you want to..."

"I think the cat's out of the bag, Sergeant," another man interrupted, the toolbag on his back hinting at his role in the unit. He nonchalantly rolled his own mask up, revealing a head of sharply-cut dark hair; almost black with a hint of blue in the flickering light. "Someone was bound to come looking sooner or later. Might as well introduce ourselves."

In spite of the sudden chill in the air, the rest of the Federation team reluctantly unmasked, allowing the Captain to introduce them in turn. "That's Staff Sergeant Ellie Salvatore with the lance. Corporal Kiril's what's left of our engineers. And you've already met PFC Preston."

At his name, the soldier by the door gave a sheepish shrug. He tried in vain to smooth out his short auburn hair, mussed and staticky from the mask. "I guess 'sorry' doesn't quite say it, and now we're all in this mess together," he said with a sigh. To himself, he added, "And I need to work on slicing the pie."

"We've met your unit before, in Randgriz," Alex shot back coldly, his own recollection of that night especially vivid. The APC carrying the Princess had been within inches of running him over, and he had screamed himself hoarse as he emptied his clip at the engine. Sheer luck he had chipped away at the block enough to hit something vital, causing the vehicle to sputter and die without damaging its precious occupant.

Ballard glanced at the young shocktrooper. "So, you're the ones that foiled that operation. That wasn't my unit, per se. But yes, Townshend's personal detail came from Bravo Company. I heard you stopped them without losing a single soldier."

"You sound almost impressed," said Juno.

"I am," he admitted grimly. "Those weren't exactly cannon fodder, I knew two of those men. Damned fool's errand... sent out to make an agreement, nearly started a war."

"We didn't know about the... 'plan' until after the envoy returned," Preston joined in. A pained look crossed his face, and he shook his head in disgust. "I almost volunteered for that son-of-a-bitch. I had questions for him."

Oscar raised an eyebrow in his direction. "A likely story," he muttered.

"Hey, you believe what you want," replied the Federation shocktrooper. "We had no part of that."

Alex glared at Preston, tempted to raise his gun and open fire. "You can't just sweep it under the rug. Your unit tried to kidnap our princess to force us to join you!"

Ballard gave an irritated groan. "Can we focus, gentlemen? We have slightly more immediate problems."

"I agree. At ease," Juno ordered. "So what _is_ going on here, Captain? Why are both you and the Imperials here?"

Folding his arms, Ballard relaxed a bit and began his explanation. "The short of it is, we suspected the Empire was going to use Gallia to bypass our front lines. Intel suggested a secondary force had entered your border: two companies' worth, separate from the main offensive."

Freesia looked at her squad leader, puzzled. "Isn't that what our scouts said, only for us?"

Juno rubbed her chin, curiosity overtaking hostility. "We didn't know they were here, but we believed they were going to strike at our flank if they were. Are you sure of this?"

"We honestly don't know. The militia left a lot of munitions behind, but the town itself isn't very defensible. It'd make a poor staging area for an assault in either direction."

Kiril cleared his throat, having moved over to the window. "Uh, guys, I hate to cut this short, but we got troops outside. Looks like they're headed this way."

Startled, the Captain reached for his weapon. "How many?"

"Can't see too clearly, but at least a dozen of them."

"Which means they have armor support nearby. Okay, here's how this goes," said Ballard, facing the Gallians. "We're not on the same side, but we're not shooting each other either, and that's a start. Whatever you're here for, both our jobs get a lot easier if it stays that way. Right?"

Alex frowned, guessing where the conversation was going. "You expect us to work together? You shouldn't even be here."

"You're right, we shouldn't, then you could fight over a hundred men by yourselves," Ellie snapped from the back of the room, a scowl on her face.

Ballard ignored both of them, speeding up his proposal as the Imperials outside drew closer. "Their platoons are trying box off this section so they can make a coordinated push for the town hall, which is where our company is regrouping. If we can break out of the box, we can hook up with them, and your team can go do what it needs to do. All I'm asking is that we 'not shoot each other' in the same direction until we're in the clear."

Juno took a long pull of air through her nose, exhaling slowly as she considered the option. More explosions sounded through the doorway, an unneeded reminder of the battle that raged around them. Her team's mission had technically been completed, though a clean return-to-base was off the table at the moment. She briefly wondered if their driver had seen the artillery barrage and proactively radioed for help, though she knew they couldn't count on that. _For all I know, the Imperials found our ride already. I can't believe this._

"We don't have many choices here," Oscar grudgingly admitted.

Competing thoughts danced away in Juno's mind, less to determine her course of action than to justify the one she had picked. Loathe as she was to trust the commandos, she was forced to concede their Captain had a point.

Hardening her expression, Juno gave a curt nod to Ballard. "What do you have in mind?"


	4. It's Never That Simple

**Things Left Behind**

A Valkyria Chronicles fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun

_Notes: Ah, the joys of writing a story around the holidays, the one time of the year guaranteed to consume every spare minute of the day. Anyway, a couple words on the characters._

_On the Gallian side, when you wander outside the main cast (and DLC extras like the Edy Detachment) you really only have potentials and profiles to go on. Makes fleshing out characters a bit of a challenge, so do let me know if anybody seems out of sorts. Each of them did get used extensively the last time I played, however, and that will creep up into the story; the bit about Alex stopping the APC in Chapter 9 actually did happen that way for me. Funny side note, I did not know that's how it was meant to be done, so that was kind of a happy accident._

_As for the commandos, I mentioned before that keeping OCs from dominating the story is a struggle. It's easy to go overboard, yet they do need more time to establish themselves, since we're already familiar with the series characters. That's part of what this chapter's for, alongside setting the stage and providing some action as the cast makes their way from A to B._

_Also I want to extend thanks to DC20 for the helpful reviews. Word repetition and speech descriptors are two of my more persistent problem areas, and I can always use more advice in that respect, and others. I appreciate the feedback! Without further ado, let us continue. Disclaimer still holds, I don't own anything, etc. you know the deal._

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><p><strong>It's Never That Simple<strong>

Mission time: +43 minutes, 23:41 hours

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><p><em>"It is not believed that Maximillian had direct oversight of the Rhodall operation, though certainly he would have knowledge of (and final command over) any Imperial forces inside Gallia. Likewise, all orders for the Federation commandos appear to have come from on-site officers once battle began. Thus it's unclear what higher authorities on either side knew of the town prior to the battle, at least beyond purely tactical matters.<em>

_The overt motivations of the Imperials were clear however, and once the assault began in earnest there was little time to investigate further. While the Randgriz incident left little common ground between Gallia and the Federation, it should come as no surprise that individual soldiers - cut off from friendly reinforcements and proper orders - will take help where they can find it."_

_- Irene Koller,"On the Gallian Front"_

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><p>The Imperial trooper crumpled to the ground, his cry of pain cut off by the gunshots that caused it. Satisfied, Alex called out his kill and turned back to his comrades, who quickly dispatched the last of the small Imperial squad; stragglers that had been passing by the store's back entrance as both teams had exited.<p>

From behind the smoking wreckage of a jeep, Juno panned her rifle over the now-empty street. "Clear on the left!"

Freesia scanned the second-story windows facing the road, hearing Oscar sidle up behind her and chamber another round. "Nobody in the cheap seats!" she yelled back.

Both teams had kept some distance between them, for tactical purposes as much as mutual distrust. Juno and Ballard had silently agreed to clear opposite directions, and for their part the commandos took the task seriously. "Yeah, clear over here," said Preston, their shocktrooper. "Think they're from the unit that chased us into the building."

Kiril calmly stepped out of cover. "I remember them having more men."

"Whole damn town's a war zone," said Ellie, slinging her unused lance. "I'm surprised half the country doesn't know we're here now."

"Kind of have other things on our plate," Oscar pointed out.

"So I gathered. Welcome to the war."

Ballard stepped out in front of his team, motioning for them to follow. "We need to get back to the motor pool, we'll never get to the town hall alive on foot."

Gradually the teams took formation and headed south along the rocket-scarred street, still separated but close enough to hear each other. More vehicles littered the road, a handful of tanks and transports thoroughly wrecked by hostile fire. No stranger to the damage a body could suffer, Oscar still had to look away as he passed a truck in flames, with a charred figure still behind the wheel.

"Why does the militia have a depot in a civilian garage?" he asked, getting his mind off the acrid smell. "I thought they were headquartered on the other side of town."

Juno picked her way past fallen rubble, taking care where she stepped. "They made a lot of emergency preparations when the invasion began: fortified public buildings, set up secondary facilities, that kind of thing. They were refurbishing this one when the order came to evacuate."

Alongside her, Alex gave her a puzzled look, about to ask how she knew this until it came to him. "Oh right, the briefing."

She rolled her eyes, then turned back to Ballard. "Anyway, you're sure there was a truck inside?"

Kiril answered for him. "Yeah, we retreated through there when that artillery stalled our platoon. We were about to hook up with these men until the Imperials ambushed us."

"Still a little concerned about those rockets," said Preston. "Either someone's a very bad artillery spotter or they just didn't care who they were hitting."

"Can you get the truck working?" Juno asked.

"Sure, if I can find the keys." The engineer waited a beat to 'correct' himself. "Yes, I can hotwire. Don't worry about it."

Following close behind, Preston scoffed. "'Don't worry about it,' he says. That's a riot, considering what just happened in the last hour."

"Lighten up Pres, it's only a blown covert operation in a foreign country. At least I remembered my toolkit this time," said the engineer with a smirk.

"I swear, you are on a one-man crusade to make me hate Darcsens on principle."

"Knock it off, you two," said Ballard in a warning tone. At the fore of his squad, he cut across the street to Juno's side and gestured to a heavy, rusted door nearby. "That's us, the service entrance. Preston, Kiril, stack up on that door. Miss Coren, if you'll allow us?"

Preston and Kiril waited for Juno's go-ahead nod before flanking the door, their banter silenced as they approached. The shocktrooper gave a tentative tug on the handle, opening just a hair and peering through the crack. Spying no trouble, he signaled accordingly and held for further orders.

"Do it," Ballard said.

In one deft move, Preston yanked the door open and cut into the building, the engineer at his heels. After seconds of shuffling feet, the report came back: "Clear here! Bring 'em in!"

Alex toyed with suggesting that their squad try again to return the way they came, but flashes and bangs from the adjoining block put a quick end to that thought. Sniffing to clear his nose, he followed the other three as they entered the improvised motor pool; little more than a civilian garage plus a few military-issue tools and ammo boxes.

As the commandos had said, a supply truck covered in makeshift armor plating sat before the old roll-door. Dents, paint scratches, and tears in the canvas cover suggested the vehicle had seen its share of abuse. Juno gave it a quick inspection, relieved to find nothing that suggested serious damage or sabotage.

"I don't like this," said Oscar, tapping at the metal plates welded to the sides. "If we run into a tank, this tin can won't last long."

Juno slung her rifle, hopping up to take a look into the empty cargo bed. "Well, we've got what we've got. It's better than trying to run for it."

Kiril dug out a pair of pliers and approached the driver-side door. "This won't take long. Might wanna check those boxes, see if there's any ammo we can use."

"Got it," said Alex, eager to resupply as the shootout in the street had left him with one spare magazine. He made a mental note to complain later about the ammo loadout of recon teams.

Ballard spoke up as everybody resupplied. "All right people, here's how we'll do this. Our secondary insertion point is about six blocks south of here. If any spot should be clear in this mess, that's it. Worst case scenario we'll try to punch through it. Miss Coren, that should give your team room to break free and report the situation to your superiors."

"Our pickup is to the northwest. Sure you can't get us any closer?" asked Freesia hopefully.

He shook his head. "Best we can manage. Last intel suggested the Empire's moving their forces in from the northeast, at least two companies' worth to match ours. It's a hike, but it'll be safer than trying to push north."

Juno glanced at her squadmates one after another, expecting at least one voice of dissent. Nobody looked particularly happy, but there were no objections. Oscar nodded slightly in return, giving Juno the okay to speak for the group. "You heard him, people. Grab what you can and buckle up."

The truck sputtered and coughed, turning over as Kiril crossed the right pair of wires. "That's it, old girl, I know you got it in you," he said under his breath, watching the dashboard as needles jumped only to fall right back down. He rubbed the steering column affectionately before giving the wires another go. "Come on honey, work with me here..."

As Ballard turned to his own equipment, Freesia exploited the pause in conversation and gestured for Juno to follow her. When she felt they were safely out of earshot she discreetly asked, "Are you sure we can trust these guys?"

Juno gave a deep sigh, her arms akimbo as she surveyed their temporary companions. "They're all we have for now, but that's not what worries me. Even if we get out, what then? Every unit in the area is tied up at Naggiar. If the Empire takes this town, they'll have a clean shot around our front."

Freesia threw a look at the nearest member of the other team: Preston, busily jotting something down in a notebook. Her expression darkened as she drew silent conclusions. "Guess that goes for them, too. Do we even have help to call?"

Squeezing her forehead, Juno tried to massage away a persistent ache. "I'm starting to think we _are_ the help. We'll stick to orders for now, but... be ready to improvise."

As Juno left to check on Alex and Oscar, the dancer heard a dismissive snort from behind. "If you're the help, we're already screwed."

Turning around, Freesia spotted the eavesdropper. Arms folded, Ellie stared back in open contempt. "Hope that gun's not just for show, kid. The enemy's not going to give you time to file your nails."

"I can handle myself," she said back, avoiding a retaliatory comment. The well-built lancer reminded her vaguely of Rosie, in temperament if not in physique. _What is it with redheads and attitude?_

"We'll see about that," said Ellie before turning away. Just loud enough to hear, she added, "Gallia's given us enough trouble already."

Outwardly cool, Freesia felt herself begin to boil on the inside. She'd been through the 'pretty girl can't handle combat' thing in basic training, and had redoubled her efforts to dispel the perception. Even so the words stung each time, all the more when paired with audacity. _Your people tried to kidnap our princess, and we're giving _**you**_ trouble?_

The dancer's very thoughts sounded flabbergasted in her head, though she couldn't come up with a suitable reply. Preston, standing close enough to witness the exchange, did so in her place. "Somebody needs a hug," he muttered, scribbling some more in his book.

Insults vanished beneath a sudden mechanical growl, and Kiril cheered in triumph as the engine spun into action. "Yeah, that's my girl!" He pounded the dashboard happily. "We're live, everybody!"

Ballard started towards the roll-door. "You heard the man. Let's get going!"

Both teams became a flurry of activity as they climbed into the truck bed, Alex hopping in last behind Preston. Grabbing the handles, Ballard pulled the door up just far enough to catch a glimpse of the street. Confident that nobody was waiting outside, he shoved it up all the way and returned to the truck's passenger side.

Headlights cut into the poorly-lit night, revealing the bombed-out road beyond the garage. Kiril waited for Ballard to join him before gingerly guiding the vehicle out, instinctively looking both ways before committing to the turn south.

The truck rattled and bounced its way down the road, jostling its human cargo with every crack and gap. Seated near the back, Alex watched one building after another speed by, the windows of a hardware store flickering with the light of a gun battle inside. A group of three soldiers ran into the open in the wake of the truck, only to be cut down by an unseen shooter.

Despite his antipathy for the Federation, his impulses nonetheless told him to stop and help. He didn't have the faintest idea how, though; he hadn't even seen where the shots came from. Helplessness dogged the shocktrooper as the bodies were left behind, and he sensed a similar disquiet from Preston across from him.

On the seat by Ellie, the radio crackled to life with the panicked voices of the other commandos. "To anyone out there, this is Sergeant Collins! We've got sniper fire by the water tower, and I can't get a visual! I need suppressing fire!"

"Overwatch is down in that sector!" another shouted. "We've got no eyes!"

A third voice sounded out, a female officer trying desperately to sound composed. "Bravo-three, Bravo-seven, I want coordinated fire support on grids two, three, and six! We'll clear a path to the rally point! All other Bravo elements, check in if your CO is dead!"

Ballard glanced back at Ellie. "Sergeant, get on that radio, relay our position and tell them we're coming in plus four. Don't want them shooting us by accident."

"Yes, sir!"

Almost as soon as the lancer had begun working the radio, an unwelcome "Oh, shit!" preceded Kiril hitting the brakes, forcing the truck to a reluctant, shuddering stop. "Captain, look!"

"Yeah, I see it," said Ballard, the scowl evident in his tone. "Damn it! We'll have to circle around."

Juno exchanged bewildered looks with her squad before poking her head up front, where the collapsed building before the truck told the rest of the story. A victim of the artillery barrage, the apartment had unluckily spilled its wooden guts out over the street. Perhaps scalable on foot, the rubble was still enough of a barrier to the old supply truck.

Oscar peered over her shoulder at the wreckage. "Well, it's not that high. Maybe if we get out here we can try..."

A muffled explosion from far behind cut him off, followed almost instantly by a much louder and closer one. Alex let out a gasp as a wall near the truck erupted in a cloud of fire and smoke, the blast giving the truck a good rattling. "Got armor on our six!" he shouted, the enemy a mere shadow more than a block behind them. "Get us out of here!"

Kiril practically wrenched the wheel as he slammed down the gas pedal, tires squealing in protest. The truck lurched to its left, hooking around the intersection and away from the tank's line of fire. "Bastards move quick, I'll give 'em that! Now where?"

"There's a park up ahead, we can try cutting through it," said Juno, her mind racing as she tried to recall alternate routes. Half of her was ready to give up on escape and join with the commandos at the town hall, and the growing sounds of gunfire from every direction were further incentives to just get off the street.

Kiril signaled his acknowledgment by swerving off the road as it ended. With the bump of a curb the truck barreled onto a stone walkway, the surrounding buildings giving way to flower beds and small trees. An ugly set of tank treads crossed the park like a scar, with two of its trees snapped at the trunk in the armor's wake.

"APC, up ahead," said the engineer, pointing to an unmarked armored vehicle on the south end of the park. "Looks like one of ours."

Juno started to speak, but the words died in her throat as two lancer shells flew in from the side. The explosives drilled firmly into the APC's weaker rear armor, practically punching into the vehicle itself before exploding.

The occupants never had a chance, and Kiril didn't bother tracing the shots back to their source. The two armored men in the bushes, previously well hidden and lances still smoking, were motivation enough to get moving.

"Are you kidding me?" Kiril floored the gas again, pulling the wheel into a hard turn.

Juno found herself squeezing the metal divider between the bed and the cabin as the truck swayed unsteadily. The sharp edge dug uncomfortably into her palm, but she ignored the pain. "The park dead-ends this way, we have to go north!"

"Go north _into_ the attack?" Ellie stared at Juno incredulously. "This is insane!"

"Yeah, well, welcome to the war!" Freesia sharply cut in, prompting an icy glare from the lancer.

Grinding her teeth together, Juno struggled to grasp how quickly the plan had come apart. "To Hel with it, just drive! We'll stick with you to the town hall, and sort this out once we're not being shot at."

The truck tore up chunks of dirt and grass as it peeled out of the park, thankfully before either lancer could ready another shell. In seconds they were back on the street, rolling past the burning husk of an Imperial tank.

"I just don't understand how they could get this deep into town so quick," said Freesia.

"Maybe they were already here." Oscar slowly released his iron grip on his seat, rubbing his numb fingers to restore circulation. "Hiding ahead of time to prepare for the attack."

"What exactly was your battle plan?" asked Juno, curious which of the Federation team would speak up first.

Ballard went quiet for a moment, debating internally how much information he needed to share. "A two-pronged assault," he answered. "Bravo company moves to secure key checkpoints, while Foxtrot circles around and strikes their flank, neutralizing the artillery in the process. The rest is textbook urban search-and-destroy, or it was supposed to be. Judging by how spread out the Imperials are, your sniper probably has the right of it."

Loud pings rang out as bullets abruptly bounced off the hood. Muzzles flashed through the window, highlighting the Imperial soldiers firing upon the truck.

Startled, Kiril reflexively ducked his head and swerved wildly to the right, nearly throwing his passengers off their seats. "Targets in the open, left side!"

Recovering from the swerve, Alex got his sub-machine gun ready and nodded to Preston. "We got 'em, just keep going!"

Ballard continued, speaking louder to accommodate the gunfire. "We haven't had any response from Foxtrot since the shelling began! Other than being ordered to regroup, we're not sure what's going on!"

Guns flared as the shocktroopers fired in short bursts, striking two of the passing Imperials. A third hostile shot back, the rifle rounds missing both men and knocking holes in the canvas behind them.

Freesia held on as the truck made a sharp right turn. "Doesn't that mean the artillery's still active?"

His gun jamming, Preston frantically worked the bolt back and forth to discharge the shell. "Nah, there would've... come on, you son of a... would've been another volley by now! Something must've happened to both of them!"

Alex was about to contribute his opinion when a familiar sight appeared behind the truck, thoroughly derailing his train of thought. Color rapidly drained from his face, realizing they had unwittingly turned right into the path of another tank. Despite the truck's speed advantage, the steel monster had a clear shot that a blind man couldn't miss.

Hearing Alex cry out in alarm, Kiril checked the rearview mirror and his eyes went wide. The road barely had room for two cars to pass, and the next intersection was uncomfortably far off. "There's nowhere to turn! Hang on, guys!"

Standing up, Ellie shouldered her weapon and started to climb over the mass of limbs toward the back. "Move, get out of the way!" she barked insistently, practically shoving the shocktroopers aside. "Everybody get down and cover your ears!"

All did as they were told, with those by the tail end of the lance cringing in anticipation. Teeth clenched, Ellie did her best to stabilize herself and eyeball the shot. She knew one shell wouldn't be enough, but there wasn't time for anything else.

The tank barrel shifted a hair, tracking the truck as Kiril tried to evade the incoming shot. Taking a deep breath, Ellie adjusted her aim to lead her target, imagining the look on the gunner's face. _That's it, jackass, right this way. Got something to wipe that smile right off._

A smooth squeeze, a close-to-ideal launch; despite an inopportune pothole the shell corkscrewed neatly through the air towards its armored target. It missed the front side but connected solidly with the turret itself, the explosion knocking a sizable hole into the chassis.

In presumably frantic response the tank returned fire, but the blast had rocked the tank a few life-saving inches. The heavier tank round sailed past the truck, close enough for Ellie to hear the whistle before it smacked into a second floor balcony.

Coughing and waving away the smoke, Oscar squinted out the back and saw the tank come to an abrupt stop. The treads were intact, but the damage had nonetheless forced to break off pursuit. "Wow," he said softly, legitimately impressed by the shot.

Content that the tank had given up, Ellie carefully stowed away the spent weapon and worked back towards her seat. "We're good, it's falling back." She slowly exhaled, hiding her own disbelief that it had worked.

Ballard's stern face hadn't so much as flinched when the tank appeared, but there was a trace of respect in his voice. "Good job, Sergeant."

Unwilling to compliment the lancer, Freesia cocked her head towards Juno. "So now where do we go?"

Gradually regaining her composure, Juno looked out the window to get her bearings. "If I remember the map right, we should be close to the town hall. One more block up, take a right."

In stark contrast to their ride so far, the street passed uneventfully, though that didn't stop anyone from expecting another ambush at any moment. On one side a wall had been blown open, giving a clear view of a bar on the inside: tables overturned, broken glass coating the floor, busted taps on the back wall still dripping alcohol. The truck had to weave through a few empty civilian cars, doors still wide open as if their drivers had just gotten out and started running.

Something about that hit Oscar hard, reminding him of Squad 7's desperate fight to retake the Vasel Bridge. Welkin, untested (as far as the squad knew), carried out his crazy plan to cross the river in the Edelweiss, striking the Imperials at their flank. The plan went smoothly, but as Oscar helped in the mop-up he saw the damage the fighting had done. The sight of a humble home reduced to matchsticks stayed with him long after the last shot had been fired, and he found it hard to celebrate with the rest of the squad afterward.

The sniper closed his eyes, shutting out the bar as it disappeared down the road. Once more, victory seemed all too fleeting.

Before long the truck rolled into a wide open square, the centerpiece of which could only have been the town hall. Standing a few stories taller than the rest, the old municipal building looked curiously undamaged compared to the neighborhood surrounding the square. The rocket barrage had seemingly spared the area, though time had taken its own toll, or so the derelict scaffolding and construction equipment around it suggested. Plenty of attention had been given to the square itself, however, with three wrecked Imperial tanks and bodies from both sides strewn about.

Juno surveyed the carnage as the truck made its way around a partially crushed car. No gunfire greeted them, but there wasn't a living soul in sight. Even the battle seemed far off, with only the occasional crack of a rifle as a reminder. She wanted to take solace in the momentary peace, but it was too sudden, too unexpected. Rather than relax, she felt instead a tinge of paranoia.

"Guess we missed the fun here," said Kiril, driving closer to the entrance. "The radio's been quiet for a while. Do you think anybody's left?"

Ballard frowned. "Ellie, get on that radio, see what's happening."

Ellie nodded and grabbed the mic off the set. "This is Bravo-six. We are at the designated rally point in a militia truck. Anyone in the area, please acknowledge, over."

Craning his neck out the back, Alex strained to see any sign of life through the hall's windows. "What do we do if nobody answers?"

"We could just beep the horn, but..." Preston began, trailing off to imply the risks involved.

Oscar knew where he was going. "If we don't know who's there, we might as well paint bullseyes on ourselves."

"Repeat, Bravo-six is at the rally point. Anybody home?" Ellie took her finger off the talk button for a moment. "For all we know, the bad guys got there first."

Just as that began to seem more likely, a female voice from the radio gave her a start, though the words were soon cause for relief. "Solid copy, Bravo-six. Bravo-four-actual here, and are we glad to see you!"

Juno slumped back in her seat, releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding. "Right back at you, Bravo-four," she heard Ellie continue. "Stand by, we're coming in."

"Roger that. We're gonna need your help. Bravo-four, out."


	5. Following Threads

**Things Left Behind**

A Valkyria Chronicles fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun

_Notes: Of all the many tactical follies your average person on the internet can commit, there's nothing quite like starting a fanfiction project right around the holidays, while you're trying to finish Skyrim no less. Sorry for the delay, folks._

_Not much to note about this chapter specifically, largely just hinting at things to come, although you might notice it's the first with a scene break. Basically, the camera's sticking with Gallia's POV throughout this; the idea being they're the only ones Irene would have immediate access to. More on that later. Nothing like a little imminent danger amidst a larger mystery to compel characters to sort out their own respective issues._

_Fun fact: In VC2, if one of your units steps on a mine, you can use a friendly vehicle to bump them off of it. This detonates the mine without harming the unit or the vehicle. I never did try this in VC1, and now I'm wondering if that was there the whole time and I just wasn't thinking outside the box._

* * *

><p><strong>Following Threads<strong>

Mission time: +1:02 hours; 00:00

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><p><em>"I guess it's ironic, in a way. Without the Federation, the Empire could've just walked into town, stuck a flag in it, then pointed their artillery at the Naggiar CP. It didn't really sink in until we got to the town hall just how bad things were. The four of us against an entire battalion, a portion of which had successfully ambushed two companies of commandos? We wouldn't have lasted five minutes."<em>

_"What happened once you reached the rally point?"_

_"In the after-action report they said we 'expanded the scope of the reconnaissance effort in light of new information.' Usually that means 'get ready to do a lot of things you weren't actually trained or equipped to do.'"_

_"And that's when you found out what they were really after?"_

_"Sort of. That's where we found our first clues... the first hint that there was more to this."_

_- Recorded excerpt of interview, PFC Juno Coren_

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><p>"Lieutenant Patricia Garity, fourth platoon, sir."<p>

The officer-in-charge looked every bit a career soldier: a trim, stern-faced woman somewhere in her thirties, her short blonde hair mostly covered by a rolled-up mask. It was clear the team had seen their share of close-quarters action, or so the spots of blood on the butt of her rifle suggested. Eight Federation commandos stood at attention behind her, with the few who had unmasked more visibly beleaguered.

Ballard met her salute with his own. "At ease, lieutenant. What's the situation?"

Their voices echoed in the vaulted lobby, the only noise apart from muted chatter of nearby soldiers. Oscar felt ill at ease from the quiet, well aware of what happened the last time he thought he'd heard something. Dim emergency lighting wasn't helping the matter, and every shadow seemed longer and deeper to the nervous sniper. Scattered papers trailing down silent hallways, tipped-over chairs in the waiting area, a cold half-cup of coffee on a table; the building had obviously been emptied in a hurry.

It was the lack of damage that set him on edge, however. An hour of fighting and a quarter of the town was in flames or ruin, yet the hall was as it appeared from the outside: neglected, but untouched. _Something's not right_, he thought, unable to even guess what it could be.

Garity looked questioningly at the Gallian scouts before answering. "Radio's been silent for the last fifteen minutes. Seven of us are all that's left of fourth platoon. Clifton and MacReady got separated from first during the initial volley. Nobody else has reported in."

The look didn't go unnoticed, and Ballard made a half-turn for introductions. "Corporal Garity, this is PFC Juno Coren with the Gallian militia, Squad 7. They were here investigating when the attack started."

"Ah, that must be the plus four you mentioned," Garity nodded. She brought her hand up in a salute towards the recon team, which Juno returned. "Well met, Gallia. Wish it were under better circumstances."

"That makes two of us," said Alex.

Juno let her hand drop and tugged at the strap of her rifle, stopping it from digging into her neck. "Likewise, lieutenant."

"Any word from major Dawes?" asked Ballard.

The lieutenant shook her head. "Last contact was by the hospital on the east side. They tried to radio their position but were cut off by an explosion. Nothing but static since."

Ellie let out a deep sigh. "This just keeps getting better and better."

Despite being outnumbered by Federation troops, Juno felt safe enough to join the conversation. "What do you know about the Imperial forces, here?" she asked. "Our recon efforts weren't able to confirm a presence before we were sent in, especially one this big."

"As far as we can tell they've been sending in mechanized scouts and light armor for the past few weeks, setting up listening posts and such. Our own recon never entered the town, though we did search the surrounding region." Garity stopped for a second and awkwardly cleared her throat. "Apologies, but given the nature of the threat..."

"We can deal with that after we're not in danger," Juno said back, holding a hand up to cut the apology short. Of the many things fighting for top billing on her to-do list, sorting out border sovereignty issues wasn't one of them.

"Of course. In any case, our scouts clashed with theirs a few times, but our intel suggested they were simply forward recon for a small battalion. We didn't know they'd seeded the city until... well, until all this."

Ballard looked over at Oscar, nodding in recognition. "Looks like you were right, son."

The sniper was briefly pulled from his overactive imagination. "Why am I always right about the bad things?" he groaned wearily, prompting a comforting pat on the shoulder from Alex.

"Hey, a sentiment I can relate to," said Kiril, who kept a close eye on the square through a cracked window. "Seriously, this is running out of ways to go bad on us."

At the engineer's remark, Garity swallowed and lowered her eyes to the floor. "You don't know the half of it."

One of Juno's eyebrows jumped up in suspicion. "Come again?"

Reluctantly looking back up, the lieutenant's faltering expression started her sentence for her: _You are not going to like what I have to say._ "Captain... we found something strange. You need to see this. Follow me."

Ballard motioned for his team to fall in as the lieutenant started away from the foyer, with Juno and company not far behind. "No need to be cryptic, Trish. What is it?"

She didn't answer straight away, instead glancing at the remnants of her squad. "Everybody check your perimeters and keep sharp. Dunlop, get on the radio again, see if anybody else is left out there."

Several 'Yes, ma'am!'s peppered the air as the assembled commandos broke away, their dark uniforms practically melding into the shadows. Garity lead both teams down a nearby hallway, with a wisp of light from a doorway to mark where they were heading. Leading them into a small conference room, she gestured to a long, oval table decorated with a large map of town.

"We were looking for the main breaker when you arrived," she said, setting aside the battery-powered lamp on the table. "We have an idea why the Imperials didn't bomb this building."

The room was just large enough to comfortably hold all nine of them, with Ballard standing at the foot of the table. "All right lieutenant, start from the beginning."

Brushing her fingers over the north edge of the map, Garity stopped at a small square marked as a post office. "As you know, several structures were fortified by the militia: police stations, government offices, even a few civilian buildings. It's likely the Imperials knew this too, and took shelter in them until the bombardment stopped."

Juno sensed a few of the pieces sliding into place. "That explains how they were able to respond so quickly. Did your people turn the lights on?"

"No, the power station's on the other side of town," said Ballard, raking the stubble on his chin with his fingernails. "They must've used it as a signal to start the attack. Call in artillery danger close, keep their men indoors, then move in before our units can get back in formation. They must've been expecting us."

Garity nodded towards the map, moving her finger to one of several circled locations. "On the way over we took out one of their officers, and his squad had set up a small listening post in one of these fortified structures. We found a map of town there with several buildings marked, including what we believe are targets of opportunity."

"Probably key structures and supply caches, like the militia armory," suggested Juno. "In our briefing we were told they set up redundant facilities to make them harder to capture."

"Exactly so. Map symbols were encoded, but we've identified this as a no-strike zone for their artillery. Likewise for the town hall and other locations." Garity paused to let everyone catch up, then pointed the southern portion of the map. "What's strange is they match up with targets we were supposed to secure."

Freesia blinked, looking for anything meaningful in the markings. All she noticed was that several of the locations followed the main road through town, which made sense to her. "That doesn't sound too strange. Wouldn't anyone trying to take the town be after the same things?"

"That's just it, we weren't here to occupy the town," said the lieutenant, either not noticing or deliberately ignoring Alex rolling his eyes. "So why do the Empire's targets match up with ours?"

Juno leaned over the table, checking each of the marked buildings. "The town hall and the power station are important, of course. Anyone fighting in the city would want vantage points and resources. Some of these buildings give clear lines of sight, but..." she trailed off, seeing a stretch of warehouses on the south end. The lots were also circled, with a rather prominent question mark drawn next to them.

Kiril had also noticed this. "Yeah, what's with the warehouses? I know we came in close to that area."

Ballard leveled a curious stare at the circled section. "Well, that was a secondary rally point in case this one was compromised. I'm not sure what they would want with it, though... unless they sniffed us out."

Juno pursed her lips, equally puzzled. "Command didn't tell us anything special about that section, just bulk storage for sharecroppers and shipping companies. And I don't think they'd hold back on artillery if they knew that was your angle of approach."

"Good point," said Ballard, still staring down at the map. He slowly shook his head back and forth, mouthing something inaudible, his hands pressing firmly into the table.

"Then they must know something we don't," said Oscar.

Ballard took on a cautioning tone. "Let's not jump to conclusions. Job one is salvaging this debacle. Until we can reestablish contact with the major - or, if he's dead - then we're on our own. If we're all that's left, we'll have to withdraw."

"I agree, but any insight into their objectives will help us," Garity countered. "That is part of why we're here, after all."

The older officer started to reply but caught himself, unable to refute the point. Sighing, he said, "Fair enough, but it's too dangerous to check the site out now. We'd have to move in force to cover that much ground."

A flash of insight prompted Juno to voice a suggestion. "This _is_ the town hall, so any paperwork would end up here: tax records, customs logs, inspection reports, that kind of thing. Maybe something in them will give us an idea what we're dealing with."

Preston spoke up in agreement, jotting down a few relevant notes. "I could check it out, sir. Where are the archives?"

"Second floor, room 218," said Garity, pushing herself away from the table. "Bring some help, there's probably a lot to go through."

"Be quick about it, we may have to pull out in a hurry," added the captain.

Juno gave a brisk nod to her team. "Freesia, Alex, go with him. Look for anything unusual."

Alex grimaced but otherwise followed the order. "That could be just about anything," he grumbled quietly to himself, tailing Freesia and Preston out of the room.

Their footsteps fading away, Ballard refocused on the map. "In any case, we have to assume the Imperials will launch another attack. Do we know anything about their movements or positions?"

Taking a pencil in hand, Garity drew a few X marks along the western approach to the town hall. "We're estimating the total number of advance troops roughly equaled one Imperial company. Bravo-one reported they were able to clear two fortified positions before we lost contact. Between radio chatter and our own encounters, it looks like the Imperials got scattered as well."

"You can scratch one tank, we left it disabled on 2nd street," said Ellie.

Juno tapped the spot on the map where their teams had crossed paths. "We took out an APC here before running into your team."

"We lost second platoon around there," Kiril joined in. "Must've been a dozen or so of them. We got what was left of them on the way to the motor pool."

"So the ambush is more or less spent. Question is, what do we do now?" asked Garity.

Ballard tilted his head towards the junior officer. "Trish, where'd you say the major was?"

"Near the hospital, about four blocks over."

"That's close enough to send out a search party. Let me see that pencil." Accepting it, the captain drew a faint circle around a large block on the east side. "Dawes was with Bravo-five, heavy armor detachment. We have to try and rescue them, and we may need those tanks to get out of this alive."

Garity gestured back to the town hall. "We do have one tank sir, but she's stalled out back. We're not sure what's wrong."

Kiril perked up, noticeably buoyed at the word 'tank'. "I could take a look at her," he offered eagerly, not seeing Ellie palming her forehead behind him.

The lieutenant shrugged. "You're welcome to try."

Ballard was about to give the okay when he heard the sound of running footsteps. "We'll need all the help we can get," he said, losing his train of thought as the noise approached.

The owner of said footsteps soon reached the room, a breathless commando who almost bounced off the door frame. "Lieutenant! It's Foxtrot, they're on the radio!"

Garity let out a small gasp, her eyes going wide. "They're alive? We haven't had word from them since this started!"

"Never thought I'd be glad to see more of these guys," said Oscar in a sotto voice.

Ballard was more measured in his reaction than the lieutenant, though he allowed some relief into his words. "It's about time we had some good news. Where the Hel have they been? What's their status?"

Catching his breath, the masked soldier straightened up to relay the message. "Sir, Foxtrot reports they took heavy losses, but were able to destroy the artillery section. And the Imperials are, uh, massing for a second attack, with a full company of fresh troops moving in."

The news was a bullet to the head of their short-lived optimism, and a pall settled over the gathered soldiers as everyone silently did the math. "So much for good news," said Kiril flatly, his usual cheer fading fast.

Juno leaned forward onto the table to brace herself, visibly deflated and unable to ignore the sudden weakness in her knees. A full company meant dozens if not a hundred more troops, enough to easily overwhelm their position. She had faced unfair odds before, but always with the Edelweiss and the rest of Squad 7 at her back.

"How much time do we have, soldier?" asked Ballard. The lamp light was just enough to see a trace of concern creep onto his face.

Juno gazed emptily at the map. It wasn't hard for her to imagine big, red arrows converging on a tiny blue dot, and what would happen when the points all hit at once.

"Not long, sir. That's all they said."

The scout felt her headache coming back, the pressure of leadership paired with their seemingly inevitable defeat. The rest of the room faded away as she scanned the map, desperately looking for a safe escape route. In spite of all logic she felt pathetic, even cowardly, her mind all but admitting how ill-prepared she was for this. She knew, intellectually, that it wasn't her responsibility to stand and fight; that her job was to get in, find the facts, and get out. The facts were laid out on the table. Mission accomplished. Get back to base. Let the real soldiers take it from there.

And yet her emotions got the better of her, doubts trapping her head in a vise. _What if the roads out are blocked, like before? What if there are stragglers along the way? What if they've surrounded us? Damn it, what do we do? Welkin... what do I do?_

"What do we do, captain?" asked Garity, echoing the thoughts of everyone else in the room.

_What do I do?_ Somehow, the question and thoughts of Welkin morphed into something else in Juno's mind. The map struck something familiar in her, though she didn't yet understand what. _Welkin, what would you do?_

Ballard had no reply, his eyes locked on the image of the town hall. "They needed this," he whispered. "They needed this. They needed this."

_What would you do?_ Juno asked herself, less a rhetorical plea and more an actual question. The town's topography took on a more recognizable shape, her memory adding more foliage but recognizing the overall strategy. _What did we do that time?_

"Sir?"

Imperial and Gallian tactics mixed in her brain, fragments from each side of one of the militia's earlier victories: fallen trees to direct the flow of traffic; mines to slow down vehicles and force an infantry screen; snipers to harass the infantry; flanking maneuvers to frustrate the armored counterattack. "Kloden," she finally said under her breath, the similarities clicking into place. "That might work here."

"Pack everything up, lieutenant. We're pulling out and..."

He didn't have time to finish before Juno's outburst startled the whole room. "We can do this!" she suddenly exclaimed, her palms slamming to the table.

Nobody said a word, all looking at the Gallian scout like she'd lost her mind, like she herself had no idea what she just said.

Slow to catch on, Oscar was first to ask the obvious. "Do... what?"

* * *

><p>"I don't get it, what are we even looking for?" asked Alex, carelessly thumbing through the filing cabinet.<p>

Preston let out a grunt as he tugged a desk drawer loose. Finding nothing useful inside, he pushed the stubborn drawer back into place. "Purchase records, shipping invoices, anything that shows what those buildings are being used for. They want something in that grid zone, we just don't know what."

Freesia balanced herself precariously on a stepladder, scanning the titles of ledgers that lined the shelves. Luckily for them, the archives office was well maintained and organized, with logical arrangements for the town's considerable volume of paperwork. Not that this made their task much easier; she had the distinct impression they were looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.

Alex made an effort to avoid breathing too deeply, flinching briefly as a strand of his blond hair fell into his eyes. The cabinet appeared to contain lease papers, but he was one of the last people in the world who would know for sure. "One wild goose chase after another..."

"I hear you," said Preston, closing another drawer. "Starting to think just driving there and poking around would be easier."

Shifting to the next row up, Freesia semi-consciously sought a distraction from the dull-looking texts in front of her. A question had steadily been nagging at the dancer, an offhanded remark she couldn't leave be for some reason. With eyes glazing over she found now was as good a time as any to pose it. "Preston, do you mind if I ask something?"

Done with the desk, the Federation trooper had his nose in his notebook again. "Shoot."

"Earlier you said you almost signed up for the... Randgriz, uh, thing," she fumbled, trying to phrase it delicately. It was clear the topic was uncomfortable for everyone, herself included. "You had questions for that ambassador?"

Preston shifted uneasily, distracted from his annotations and surprised someone had remembered. "Y-yeah, I... well, it's kind of a long story. The short of it is, Townshend... remembers my old man better than I do. I just wanted to ask about him."

Alex crooked his head at Preston, his own curiosity triggered. "Don't tell me your dad was involved in that too," he said accusingly.

"No! No, he died a few years ago," Preston shook his head briskly. "Bad accident. Part of the long story, actually. But he was a diplomat, and I'm told he worked with Townshend more than a few times. In hindsight I guess I should be more worried about that, given what he put you guys through."

With a "hmph," Alex turned back to the cabinet, content to leave it at that. Despite their forced cooperation, he felt no obligation to trust the other shocktrooper.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," Preston continued, staring down at the mess of notes that no longer interested him. His shoulders sagged with an unseen weight, burdened by guilt from someone else's actions. "None of us knew what the mission was until word got back that it had failed. It was... it was wrong."

Still practically hanging off the shelf, Freesia looked away from Preston, quietly absorbing his apology. If nothing else it sounded sincere, in part from the distant cast to his otherwise young, rounded face. The word 'remember' stuck out to her, more for the hint of bitterness it contained. Something was bothering him, though she had a hunch it was more complicated than the actions of his deceased colleagues.

Without further comment the three resumed their searching, the squeaking of drawers and flipping of pages not quite enough noise to fill the room. Nothing could be heard through the only window, the city outside virtually silent.

From this, Alex's voice was a welcome reprieve. "Wait a sec, I found something."

Freesia and Preston left their sections to join Alex at the filing cabinet, where he flipped open an old, faded folder marked 'Long-Term Lease Expenses.' "Yeah, here we go. Looks like the mayor's office rented D-zero-two, starting since... hmm, there's no start date. Odd."

The dancer and the commando traded shrugs, nonplussed. "How did you know that was it?" Freesia eventually asked.

Alex brought the folder over to the desk, where he carefully opened it and pulled out the contents. "I'm no bookkeeper, but I know dust. Every other folder in there hasn't been touched in a while, but someone was looking at this not too long ago."

Preston couldn't hide his surprised look. "Neat freak," Freesia quickly explained.

Sure enough the documents within had aged visibly, but were relatively dust-free. Alex handled them gently as he spread the yellowed, curled pages on the desk. For Freesia, much of the ancient printing may as well have been a foreign language: repair contracts and budget figures, all numbers that had never been the dancer's strong suit.

"That seems a little strange," she heard Preston mutter, causing a bout of self-consciousness as she failed to keep up.

Alex admitted his own confusion. "What seems a little strange? What are we even looking at?"

"Well, I might be reading this wrong..." Preston walked his fingers along a row of numbers aligned with 'D-02,' mouthing them to himself at each step. "All the others change, why not this one?"

At that, Freesia saw the same thing. The sheet, a monthly budget report, tracked some kind of expenses for several warehouses. As expected the numbers rose and fell from month to month, save for D-02, which had the exact same amount for every entry on the page. "That _is_ odd. Didn't Juno say these were mostly used by farmers?" she asked.

"Yeah, you can even see them varying seasonally," said Alex. His attention wandered to another document, helpfully marked at the top as a construction permit. "This is from a few years before that budget sheet. Looks like they built something in the warehouse itself, and since then nothing's changed."

Freesia moved down the table, leaning around Alex for a better look at the permit. Again she was out of her element, though this time the words were more numerous and comprehensible. She quietly scanned the document as Preston flipped to a blank page in his notebook, where he crudely scratched in as much as he could fit.

"The square footage looks too big," said the Federation trooper, his olive eyes bouncing between the document and his notes. "You could barely fit that much material inside two warehouses, let alone one."

Alex gently chewed on his own tongue, trying to imagine what someone could do with a few thousand tons of steel. "Maybe it's another militia project. Were they building tanks in there or something?"

Preston crossed something off in his book. "Nah, that wouldn't explain the fixed maintenance budget. Unless it got abandoned in mid-construction..."

Though lacking on construction knowledge, the dancer's keen eyes - and less-advertised reading habits - allowed her to pick a few words out of a wall of legalese. Understanding wasn't the problem, the words themselves were simple. The descriptions they formed, however, only twisted an already bizarre mental picture even further; layers of the unusual atop wild guesses at the secrets within.

"This doesn't make any sense," she said softly, tumbling the image around in her thoughts.

Alex nodded. "You're telling me. We don't even know when it was rented, but it's been sitting idle for..."

She continued over Alex, folding her arms and musing aloud to herself. "I mean, why build a vault beneath a warehouse?"

"...decades from the look of..." Alex stopped short and did a double-take towards the scout, not sure if he had heard right. "Wait, where'd you get that?"

Preston cut his writing short, taking his turn to feeling slow on the uptake. "Do what to where now?"

"Well, over here it mentions a vault mechanism," she pointed to the exact phrase for emphasis. Her finger then slid further down the page to the word 'subterranean.' "And it looks like they were building it underground, below that lot."

Both men silently followed her finger, sharing disbelief that they had missed the obvious. Although well hidden by surrounding lines referencing multiple parties, the complex's stated purpose was clear enough on the page: keep something secure and secret, a large and very important something.

"That's what they're after, isn't it?" asked Alex. "Whatever's inside that thing."

Freesia inhaled slowly, deliberately. "I think we found the real star of the show," she said, feeling nervous for reasons she couldn't yet explain.


	6. The Easy Way is Always Mined

**Things Left Behind**

A Valkyria Chronicles fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun

_Notes: Juggling plot threads is always a challenge, especially in any story where the aim is to gradually reveal what's really going on. Case in point, here we get a sense of scope for the mystery, even as the approaching Imperials present a more immediate problem. At least the pressure is an excuse to get people talking. On the technical side, I haven't been able to get a solid date range for EWI. Neither the in-game encyclopedia nor the design archive set specific dates, so I'm assuming it's roughly comparable with WWI, give or take a few years. I would appreciate any clarification on this, or any other details I missed.  
><em>

_As previously mentioned some of the militia group's exploits are based on how I played the game, which is to say unwisely. While rushing with scouts is a valid tactic for A-ranking missions, Kloden was a rather unexpected sucker punch, mostly because I didn't know you didn't have to fight the boss. That was about as much fun as taking the Jack Burton approach to Barious; AKA "Hey, you don't know the glowy blue woman with the laser lance is invulnerable until you try." Well, now I know. And knowing is half the battle!_

_In a related story, Barious will come up later. See if you can guess how!_

* * *

><p><strong>The Easy Way is Always Mined<br>**

Mission time: +1:38 hours, 00:36

* * *

><p><em>"Publicly, Gallian officials never admitted to any interference by the Federation during the war. Eyewitnesses were few during the Randgriz incident, with the attackers' use of Gallian uniforms and marked vehicles adding further confusion. Chancellor Borg's investigation committee officially stated the culprits were a combination of Imperial spies and defecting army soldiers, a finding that was later challenged in court. Perhaps ironically, when the Marmota struck the capital it crushed the courthouse where said challenge was being filed.<em>

_Rhodall was another matter. Until recently, members of the recon team were the only known witnesses to the battle. Army investigators did reveal bodies and equipment from an unidentified group, and damage to the town pointed squarely at the involvement of a third party. This corroborated the squad's detailed report, though ultimately theirs was the only indication that Federation commandos had intervened._

_It is known, however, that sometime after midnight the recon team made a stand against the advancing Imperials. They were not alone."_

_- Irene Koller, "On the Gallian Front"_

* * *

><p>Juno had never gotten used to attentive stares, and her present audience wasn't speeding that process along. Mere minutes into her plan she already felt out of her depth, having spent some of her prior outburst just explaining what Kloden was. She momentarily regretted sending both Alex and Freesia to check the archives. They, at least, would not have stood there gaping like a fish if told they might have to fight. The same could not be said for Oscar, who had been shocked into silence at the suggestion.<p>

Ballard met Juno's eyes for just a second, long enough to gather the scout leader was being serious. "I understand the road out might be dangerous, but staying here is suicidal," he said firmly. "A full company of troops can mean over a hundred soldiers, and they'll have armor. We have seventeen people and a busted tank."

"We've faced worse odds in the first weeks of the invasion. We were pushed almost to Randgriz for a while, but Welk-" Juno stopped herself, reminded of protocol and choosing her words more carefully. "Lieutenant Gunther's plan helped us retake Vasel Bridge. It's not impossible."

Once more, Oscar thought of the aftermath of the Vasel operation, of that utterly demolished home and his hopes that no one had been inside. "It wasn't easy," he said weakly, trying to escape his own imagination.

"Your lieutenant's accomplishments notwithstanding, this is not simply taking a bridge." The captain tapped the table for emphasis. "Urban combat is messy and dangerous. Even if Foxtrot was at full strength it'd take them an hour to get here from their artillery position. At best we have half an hour, and that's just a guess."

"I know, that's why I mentioned Kloden. It's not exactly the same, but we could set it up in just a few minutes, and we'd have a chance at stopping them..."

Ellie finished for her, making no secret of her distaste for the idea. "If we hadn't just lost most of our company in an ambush! Sir, this is insane. We need to get out of here while we still can."

"But if we run, there's nothing to stop them from hitting our flanks. And we still don't know what they're after," Garity pointed out.

"Pardon me lieutenant, but I think we've got an answer to that."

Preston's voice was nearly lost beneath the back-and-forth, but all attention shifted his way as he entered the room ahead of Alex and Freesia. His captain took notice of the book in his hands, along with the documents carefully tucked under the arms of his companions.

"Oh, this can only mean good things," Kiril muttered sarcastically.

Garity ignored him. "What did you all find?"

Alex went first, spreading some of the paperwork out over the town map. "They were doing some kind of construction under one of the warehouses, number D-02. It's some kind of vault that the mayor had built decades ago, but we don't know what for."

"We found this with the construction permit," said Freesia, unfurling a faded floor plan from her armful of papers. "We're not sure what to make of it, but it's bigger than the warehouse it sits under and nobody's been down there for a long time."

Preston took over from there, reading a few notes from his book. "Fixed maintenance budget, no start date on the lease, and I'm no expert but that vault door looks pretty high-tech, especially for twenty years ago. Kiril, you may want to take a look at it."

"That explains why they were avoiding the warehouses, they didn't want to risk damaging it," said Juno, the news feeding her growing suspicion that there was something more to this.

"Twenty years ago is during the First Europan War," said Oscar, intrigued enough to join the engineer at the schematic. "What would they be locking up in the middle of a war?"

Squinting at the ancient document, Kiril grew increasingly puzzled. "Locks aren't really my specialty, but this would've been a beast of a project even now, let alone back then. There is no way some town on the border built this on their own. I'd bet anything this went through one of your higher-ups at some point."

Amidst the flurry of questions and speculation, few noticed that the captain's eyes had shut; wrinkles deepening, his face locked in concentration. "Son of a bitch," he whispered to himself, his lips barely moving. "This can't be..."

Garity was one of those few. "Sir?" she tentatively called to him, his expression a concern for the lieutenant.

"We have to find out what's down there," Juno insisted. "For all we know that's what they're really after."

Ellie abruptly looked away from the table, her tone wavering as she carried out her own internal second-guessing. "That still doesn't mean we should stand and die here. If anything we should pull back to the warehouses and dig in there while we find out."

The scout leader shook her head, pushing some of the papers aside to uncover the town hall. "They're on the outskirts of town, there's no cover out there. They might not blow it up, but they can still trap us."

"She's right Ell, there's a reason we were trying to get to the town first," said Kiril.

Oscar timidly shifted his weight, his stomach churning at the thought of staying to fight. "I don't know... even if we held at Kloden, it's not really the same. We're badly outnumbered here."

Alex blinked. "Kloden? What's that got to do with this?"

Although Ellie had stopped frowning, there was still a clear edge to her response. "Your boss seems to think some cockamamie strategy from the woods will work here."

Juno bit her tongue, hoping the abrasive lancer would let her finish this time. "It's not exactly the same, no, but we did hold off an Imperial counterattack after getting separated in the woods. The enemy used the terrain to spread us out, and a handful of us had to fend off a heavy tank and infantry unit. Alex, you remember?"

The shocktrooper was slow to follow, his initial memories of the mission largely limited to 'run over there' and 'shoot those guys.' Gradually, however, other details came into focus. "Ohhh yeah, I know what you mean. Kinda smaller scale though, don't you think?"

Freesia pursed her lips, skimming her own recollection. "We did have to keep that one big tank busy, though. That Imperial general, what was his name... Varrot seemed surprised he was there." She tried to snap her fingers a few times, her gloves interfering with the sound until she bolted up. "Jaeger, that's it! Yeah, he led the counterattack."

Ballard straightened up with a start, glancing questioningly at the dancer. "Radi Jaeger," he said flatly, making no attempt to hide his disbelief. "Your team faced _Radi Jaeger_."

Preston scratched at one of his eyebrows. "I feel like I should know that name."

The captain threw a gravely serious look at his shocktrooper. "You should, he's one of the Empire's top generals. Story goes, the Empire conquered his home country and conscripted some of their men, Jaeger among them. Turns out he was a brilliant tactician, so much that the Emperor himself recognized him. He's got guts, too. Rides into battle alongside his men, almost unheard of for someone of his rank."

Even Ellie seemed taken aback. "You're saying your team went up against him? And lived?"

"If they hadn't lived, this conversation would've just gotten really weird," Kiril chuckled, prompting a short glare from the lancer.

"Well, it's not like we destroyed his tank," Juno quickly clarified, trying not to oversell it. "But a handful of us were able to stall his unit long enough for help to arrive. If your Foxtrot company can get here, then we can stop the Empire, and that'll give us time to find out what's so important about this town."

"I think we should hear her out, sir," said Garity to Ballard. "Regardless of what's going on, I don't think we can run from this."

The elder officer paused, as if waiting for objections that didn't come. After seconds of silence he let out his held breath, giving a faint nod of the head even as his eyes spoke of lingering doubts. "All right, Miss Coren. Walk us through this plan of yours. Be quick about it, we don't have much time."

Juno didn't waste a second, pushing aside the documents to clear the map of town. "Okay, let me grab some props. This is going to sound strange, but bear with me on this."

A cursory search of the room produced a few odds and ends: discarded drinking glasses, coffee mugs, a few coins, and so on. Juno settled on coffee mugs for the enemy, placing them at three key junctions leading to the square from the northeast. "Here's the situation: we're here at the center, the Empire is coming from this direction, and those are the main roads. They might not use all three, but that is their angle of approach."

Coins fell into place next, moving halfway up each road towards the mugs. "At Kloden the Imperials used delaying tactics to spread out our forces. A minefield kept our armor behind infantry, who were then exposed to fire from across a river, with squads covering them, and so on back. Soldiers were able to reinforce from cover as we tried to take out the units watching the road."

Ballard was quick to catch on. "You're talking about bleeding them a bit on each angle, working our way back. But you eventually beat that. How does that help us?"

"The main difference is in Kloden they were drawing the attackers, us, back to a single point, meaning they had to defend from multiple directions. The same applied once we took that forward base. We had to hold back the general's unit until our own tank got into position, and we stalled him by hitting from two sides at once."

"It shouldn't have taken that long, except Edelweiss took some tread damage from a mine and we were cut off," Oscar chimed in.

Juno drew the coins back towards town hall, clustering them around the building. "These three units slow the enemy's advance, forcing them to watch for snipers and gather around the armor. We want them to bunch up at first, this buys time for us to find something to block the roads with. At Kloden they used fallen trees, but our scouts were able to clear them before we committed any forces. With them sticking by the armor they won't know the streets are blocked until they get to them."

"Couple 'I Don't Cares' should do the trick," Garity suggested.

Alex looked at her curiously. "What are those?"

"IDCs: Improvised Demo Charges. Make a bomb out of whatever you can find. We can push a few cars into place, puncture the tanks, rig them with grenade traps, and a designated marksman can touch it off. It won't block the street, but a wall of fire should snarl up traffic nicely."

"That'll do," Juno nodded. "If they're leading with vehicles, this lets us cut them off. Otherwise it stalls them while they try to force their way through. Either way, they'll be at a disadvantage."

Last were drinking glasses, sliding into buildings that flanked the town hall. "Like I mentioned, the difference is we're not drawing them to a single point. We set up these positions and concentrate fire as they enter the square." She placed another glass behind the hall, then shifted it out to one side. "If they move their armor first, we take that tank you mentioned - if we can get it working - and destroy them before they can clear the intersection. If the tank doesn't work, then we put lancers in ambush positions."

Lifting her head from the prop map, Juno briefly worried that the explanation was lost on a few people. "The whole point is at every step they're shooting in multiple directions and we're focusing on one. When Jaeger showed up to retake the base, Sgt. Potter had us split up to hit his column. Freesia, you took the hill overlooking the second camp, didn't you?"

"Yeah, something like that," said the dancer uneasily, her head bobbing an inch to the right. _And nearly got my head blown off..._

"Even though we couldn't do much damage, this kept Jaeger and his men busy watching for side attacks. Likewise, if we spread out they won't have a single building to focus on. All we have to do then is keep them from getting behind us."

"And what if they do? What if they make a coordinated push and break through the line, or just circle around the town?" asked Ellie, doggedly seeking a flaw.

"We could set up a fallback position on the south end of the square," said Preston, taking one of the cups and placing it over the spot in question. "We park the truck there and if it looks bad, we make a run for it. A rear guard can set up here to stall any pursuers and catch up later. And it'd take them hours to circle around town, in which case we have even more time."

Juno pressed her hands flat against the table, hoping nobody would notice her trembling fingers. She could sense the clock ticking, her own pounding heart reminding her there was only so much time to prepare. "It's not a perfect plan, but we don't have time for much else. I don't know how things are where you're all from, but here in Gallia there's a big battle coming up that might just determine the fate of the war for us. And if the Empire takes this town, they can hit us from the side and we might as well not even show up."

Nobody had a response ready, and Juno felt shock at the sharpness creeping into her voice. Once more, thoughts of Welkin weren't far away, and she could only wonder how her lieutenant made leadership look easy. "What really scares me," she added, "is if they don't even want the town. They just want what's buried here. What if it's some kind of weapon? What if it doesn't even matter if we survive our own battles? If we don't stop them here, we won't know what it is until it's too late."

Garity nodded in agreement, a knowing look in her eyes. "It would hardly be out of character for the Empire to develop, or search for, secret weapons."

"Ask us about Barious sometime," said Oscar coolly, remembering his own near-miss with two powerful examples. Freesia swallowed inaudibly at the mention of the desert, clenching and unclenching her left hand as if reminding her it was still there.

Kiril stood away from the table and unhooked a small tool pouch. "Captain, whatever we do, we should probably do it fast. I'll need a few minutes to check out the tank."

"It's your call, sir," Garity said. "What do we do?"

Ballard had taken in the strategy quietly, closely watching every prop on the table. Glasses, coins and coins stood at the ready, waiting only for his word to stop the advance of the coffee mugs. "'Never derelict in duty,'" quoted the older officer, fixing his gaze on the circled warehouse. "All for a secret."

Before anyone could say anything else, he stiffened his back and nodded to Juno. "You heard her. Let's get to work."

* * *

><p>"I get that he likes his job, but does he have to do... that?"<p>

The question referred to Kiril, who had gleefully flung himself at the medium tank's engine on sight. Oscar and Ellie had barely exited the rear of the hall when he fired up a lamp and cracked open the engine casing, unhindered by the night's cold breeze. Behind him lay his toolset, a cornucopia of well-used gadgetry that nonetheless looked well cared for. Spanner in hand and an upbeat (albeit off-key) whistle on his lips, he seemed utterly oblivious to the pressure of time.

Ellie was quite aware of what Oscar was referring to. She tried not to stare as the engineer swayed his hips in time with his whistling. "I know Darcsens are common in the machine trades, but he... takes to it a little too well. I just tune it out and hope he doesn't go blind."

"You're just jealous of me and Lulubell here," he stopped to answer, his head and arms practically buried in the engine. "That's it baby, let me get you out of that distributor..."

"You have _got_ to get out more."

Too nervous to laugh, Oscar toed the ground as he waited. If nothing else, Kiril's eccentricities were a welcome distraction from the impending battle. His imagination, however, had no such remedy, dreaming up a sharpshooter in every darkened window. He stuck close to the tank more for cover than to help out. Uncomfortable as his current companions made him, he still felt grateful the lieutenant's team included enough people to cover the roads. He didn't relish the idea of climbing the clock tower, and had volunteered in part to delay doing so.

"He reminds me of this guy I know in the squad," said the sniper, avoiding thoughts of what a tank shell could do to the tower. "Freesia would get a kick out of this."

One of the engineer's hands reached out behind him. "Someone hand me my pliers? Blue handle, on the ground."

Ellie snatched up the requested tool and passed it to Kiril's outstretched hand. "Boys and their toys..."

"Can you fix it?" Oscar asked, rubbing his arms to ward off the chill.

The hand disappeared back into the engine. "Are you kidding? This isn't even a repair job, just some corroded connections and a bad spark plug. She just wants a little attention, that's all."

A motor revved from around the corner, streetlights cutting across the square as the militia truck rolled into view; one of the commandos putting their escape plan into place.

"Hey... Oscar, right?" Ellie suddenly asked, and it occurred to him he couldn't recall Juno actually introducing her team. "About this plan. Do you really think she can pull it off?"

Her question was surprising enough, let alone the apparent sincerity of it. Practically every word she had said thus far told of a sizable chip on her shoulder, and he was torn between brushing her off and not pissing her off. "I, uh... honestly don't know," he confessed, unwilling to take a stand either way. "It could work, but there's a lot that could go wrong."

The lancer crooked a suspicious eyebrow. "A ringing endorsement."

Oscar was put on the defensive, now wishing he'd headed straight to the tower. "Look, don't get me wrong, we've been through crazy stuff before. I'm amazed we got through the desert in one piece. But this... this is different. I just don't know."

"Hmm. Well, your squad leader seems to know what she's doing. Just hope princess and hothead can keep up."

He didn't have to guess who she meant. The insinuations were starting to get under his skin, anger overtaking fear. "Hey, if you've got a problem with us, just say it," he said back sharply. "We're going to have enough to deal with once the fighting starts."

A hint of amusement danced in her eyes, even as a frown pulled her lips downward. "'Once the fighting starts?' Let me spell it out for you, Gallia. The fighting already started, months before any of you gave a second thought about it. You were content to cling to your precious neutrality until the Imperials invaded you, too."

"Oh, here we go again," Kiril groaned, still buried in the engine block.

Ellie was undeterred from her rant, which only grew in intensity. "The whole world's burning down around you, and all you do is complain about the smoke until the fire hits your doorstep. Just like the last war, you're determined to be a nation of fence-sitters, all while claiming the moral high ground. _That_ is my problem!"

"Ellie, leave the poor guy alone."

"You of all people should be angry over this, Kiril!"

Oscar felt a growl building in the back of his throat. For all the Imperials enraged him, he could at least shoot them back. "So that's it, is it? We didn't jump at the chance to enter a war, so anything goes, including kidnapping our princess? Was it really about the ragnite, or were you just trying to force us into the trenches with you?"

"You're in the trenches now, kid! That's what your neutrality got you! Here we are anyway, fighting for a country that would leave us all to die!" She was almost screaming now, the flush in her cheeks matching her hair. "A country that chased Kiril out just like the Empire did!"

"That's enough, Ellie! Knock it off!"

"Yeah, well I don't remember asking for your help!" Oscar yelled back, also livid.

"We should've just left you to deal with this! I hope you choke on your ragnite, you son of a bitch!"

_"ENOUGH!"_

The bellowed word came like a gunshot, startling both the sniper and the lancer. Kiril stood right up in Ellie's face, despite the few inches she had on him. He glowered up at her, teeth bared into an unrecognizable scowl. "Stand down!" he ordered despite being outranked, all trace of humor gone from his voice.

"But-" she started.

"I moved on, Ell," he said sternly, jaw loosening but gaze constant in its intensity. "You should too."

Ellie just stood there, dumbfounded and amazed at Kiril's outburst. She took a hesitant step back, as if her mind was registering concepts of shame and hurt for the first time. Anger soon smothered the feelings, and with a huff she turned away and headed for the hall's rear door.

"Must be nice to let it all go so easily," she said shakily as she retreated.

Pulling in air through his nose, Kiril let out a long, deep sigh. "I'm sorry about her," he looked to Oscar, who was still trembling from the exchange. "She's... got an attitude problem, I know. Some of her friends were in territories we lost to the Empire, she takes a lot of this personally."

The sniper watched her leave, the crisp air failing to cool him down. "You don't say."

"She's not really a bad person, just gets wound up too easily. C'mon, let's get this done. I'll need an extra pair of hands to test the engine."

As Oscar followed Kiril, he couldn't get past something the lancer had said. "Is it true?"

"What's that?"

"Were you... chased out of Gallia?"

Picking up his spanner, the dark-haired engineer reached into the tank and answered without looking back. "Like I told her, I moved on. Let's leave it at that."

* * *

><p>Gently squeezing the lens, Juno rubbed the napkin up and down until the glass was wiped clean. An eerie quiet had enveloped the town, as if the very streets were bracing for the attack. From the second story office she had a clear shot at all three roads, two of which - per Garity's suggestion - were partly blocked by booby-trapped civilian cars.<p>

"So what do you think, Alex?" she asked, holding the glasses up and checking for any other smudges.

The shocktrooper peered out the window, watching the skyline for any telltale flashes. "I'm thinking we need more firepower."

"I mean our chances. Do you think we can do this?"

He shrugged. "If they're right about the numbers, we're looking at... I dunno, six or seven for every one of us? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous."

Juno sank into a nearby chair, propping an elbow on the armrest and sinking her chin into her hand. "You're better at hiding it than me. Part of me feels like I lost my mind back there, and just blurted it out without thinking it through."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with a little look-before-you-leap." He flashed her a quick smile, fueled by false bravado. "It's worked for us so far, hasn't it?"

She found herself gazing blankly ahead, staring through the peeling, diamond-patterned wallpaper. "It's the 'so far' that I'm worried about. I kept wondering what we'd do if Welk... if everyone else were here."

The partial name-drop didn't escape Alex's notice. _Commence hero worship in three... two..._

"What if I've got it wrong? What if I made it worse for all of us? What if he could pull it off and I just... can't?"

"Hey, he put you in charge for a reason," he reminded her. "You're the only one of us that actually knows what they're doing. Besides, you think Welkin never thinks the same things?"

"He never seems to." Her hand fell away, her doubts all but literally written on her face. "He always seems so... composed and in command. I really don't know how he does it."

The shift in her demeanor was unexpected for the shocktrooper, not to mention annoying. _You're doing this now, after you just convinced us to go through with this? I never thought I would hate the fact that Welkin is a good officer. Guess today's the day for 'first times.'_

Slowly she rose to her feet, taking her position at the window again. "I know there's not much choice now. It's just hard to feel like I'm doing the right thing. Hard to... shut my own thoughts up, you know?"

Something about her words triggered a memory of his, a phrase he had heard a long time ago. He was certain his mind had mangled it at some point. _Is that how it went? Crap, I was never good at this reassuring thing. It fits, though. It does fit, right?_

Throwing caution to the wind, he cleared his throat. "You know, my old man told me this once. I wish I could remember who said it first, something like... 'doing the right thing doesn't always feel like it until you try to live with it.'"

"I think I've heard that before," she said. "Belgen Gunther?"

_Damn it! Figures I'd quote his dad on accident._ "I'm not sure, to be honest. I always read it wrong though, I took it as a cue to jump into things without thinking too much about it."

It was Juno's turn to smile a bit. "You say that like you ever stopped doing that."

Alex welcomed the minor victory, even at his own expense. "Hey, I... okay, yeah, that's true. The point is, I found out he meant something more complicated. Sometimes doing the right thing means trouble for you now, and it doesn't feel worth it until it's all over with."

He leaned against the wall next to the window, looking down at the empty square. "Look, I'd rather be just about anywhere else right now. I still don't know how much we can really trust these guys. But we've seen what they're up against. They were getting slaughtered out there. We couldn't just leave like this. Maybe this is a bad idea... but, if it helps, I do trust you, and I'm glad we're doing this."

To his relief, she was still smiling when he glanced her way. "That does help. Thanks, Alex."

He cheered on the inside, if only because he so rarely had applicable advice. "We'll stop them," he said, this time with genuine confidence.

The radio on the desk behind them came to life, carrying Ballard's voice loud and clear from the left-hand post. "This is Bravo-six, switching to joint ops callsign team three. All units, check in."

Juno whirled around and grabbed the microphone. "Team one, standing by."

"Team two, MG is mounted and ready," said a male commando on the ground floor.

Preston was next, stationed on the right flank with Freesia. "Team four, we're in position."

And then Oscar from the clock tower. "Overwatch, standing by. No signal from the advance teams."

Last was their engineer, backed by the healthy purring of an engine. "Lulubell is ready to rumble, sir," said Kiril.

"Solid copy. Maintain radio silence until visual confirmation of our boys up front. This is it, people. Do your colors proud and they stay free tonight. Team three, out."


	7. Friendly Fire

**Things Left Behind**

A Valkyria Chronicles fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun

_Notes: Hoo, this one took a while. Sorry 'bout that folks, no Skryim to blame it on this time. Battle scenes have always been a problem of mine; not fight scenes, but full-on war segments where everybody's shooting at everybody. Went over this a few times and I'm still not perfectly happy with the result, but you work with the words you have. "Every story written is the death of a perfect idea," and all that.  
><em>

__Half the fun part of writing - and I use 'fun' loosely here - is figuring out if what you just wrote won't irritate somebody with actual knowledge of the subject; urban combat in this case, but you get the idea._ The other half, of course, is figuring out who gets to survive the seemingly fatal injury. Also, Barious went down pretty much as hinted: almost everybody flattened - thankfully not dead, cleared the mission in time - and a suicide run for the last radiator. On the upside, that left like 20 CP for Edelweiss to finish the job in one turn. Poor Isara got a workout that day._

_Anyway, there's a lot of jumping around in this one, so concrit is as welcome as ever. With any luck, the next chapter shouldn't take so long to complete._

* * *

><p><strong>Friendly Fire<strong>

Mission time: +2:13 hours, 01:09

* * *

><p><em>"I was still pretty steamed when I climbed the tower. It did take my mind off how cold it was up there, not to mention my part of the plan. I've spotted before, but usually for just another sniper, not a whole ambush."<em>

_"How long did you have to wait?"_

_"I don't know exactly how long, but it was close to one o'clock when we heard the first gunshots. I remember watching the roads for movement. It felt like hours. Finally I saw the commandos: three groups of two, falling back in a hurry. We didn't learn until later, but they'd hit the Imperials pretty hard."_

_"So the plan worked?"_

_"It seemed to at first, yeah. But nothing ever goes just as planned."_

_- Recorded excerpt of interview, PFC Oscar Bielert_

* * *

><p>"Movement, I've got movement near the cars!"<p>

Oscar gripped the binoculars tightly as he scanned the humanoid shapes below. Streetlights lit up the soldiers as they ran by, revealing their dark camouflage and tactical vests. The six of them carefully crossed the rigged intersections, partly blocked by empty cars with tanks punctured and fuel coating the ground.

"That's them, the advance teams," he said, his free hand on the radio. Each pair gave a hand signal as they entered the square, two of them making a side-to-side gesture with a closed fist. "The Empire's using all three roads, vehicles on the outside."

"Team three copies. Everybody stay dark and stand by."

The clock tower balcony offered a commanding view, marred by distant smoke billowing up from unattended fires. He had a clear shot at the points where all three streets fed into the square, though the thin wooden railing left him almost equally exposed. Darkness was the position's only saving grace, as work lights and scaffolding stopped on the second floor. To his relief, the massive clock above him hadn't been reactivated with the power, and currently was little more than a fancy window locked at 6:22.

_Should've asked for one of their camo outfits, I'll bet that would work better up... wait._ His thoughts were stopped by further movement, flickers of light on the buildings along each road. _That's gotta be them._

Slowly, two of the large metal beasts rolled into sight, barrels leading the way. At that distance the tanks' engines were merely faint murmurs over the whistling wind. Nonetheless, the sight was enough to send a chill down his spine, a fresh reminder of what they were up against. It took a few seconds before he registered the infantry, some clustered around the tanks with a separate group down the center road.

"I see them!" he whispered into the radio. "Tanks on the north and east with infantry behind them, and a larger infantry group coming from the northeast. Looks like they're taking the bait."

The commandos below split off, retreating and reinforcing the ambush positions. Luckily they had just enough time to stay out of sight, though Oscar was certain the Empire was expecting an attack. It felt too obvious, and his nervous brain kept picking over every flaw in the plan: what if they circled around, what if the traps didn't go off, what if stragglers hit from behind, or a hundred other things.

As if to confirm his fears, the tanks reached the trapped cars and kept going, effortlessly crushing parts of them to no ill effect. The monsters rolled unhindered into the square proper, barrels rotating in search of victims. No explosions, no fire, just troops following in their tracks. Even the infantry group wasn't slowed down, with a handful of soldiers ducking behind the obstructions and surveying the square from cover.

"Stand by," Ballard repeated.

Oscar squeezed the talk button again, his doubts taking a firmer grip on him. "The traps aren't working. What do we do? Should I take a shot?" _And risk exposing myself even more?_ he stopped himself from adding.

"They're grenades. Give it a few seconds," said Garity.

"But..."

"Easy, Oscar, we want this," Juno reassured him. "Everyone get ready."

Just as she finished, muffled booms and bright flashes erupted from the rigged cars. Even displaced by the tanks, the explosions were big enough to catch the pools of spilled fuel. In a heartbeat the barricades were all ablaze. Fire angrily tore across the street's volatile surface, carving messy holes between the ranks and separating armor from infantry. Several poor Imperials were caught in the flames, screaming and flailing in blind, agonized panic.

"That's it, people! Go loud!" shouted the captain.

At the cue, a pair of lancer shells bolted in from the left, neatly striking the nearest tank on its broadside. The combined explosions were the loudest thing Oscar had heard since the artillery stopped, and he felt a rush of relief as the force of the blasts dislocated the turret. With treads snapped and main gun out of commission, the beast was left little more than a burning metal shell.

In the time it took him to switch to his rifle, utter chaos and a hail of lead descended upon the square. Heavy machine guns erupted from the town hall and both flank buildings, their staccato rhythms tearing apart any exposed infantry that hadn't caught fire. Still cut off by the blaze, their cohorts scrambled frantically to link back up with the disintegrating forward unit.

Another blast rang out, this one from the right as Lulubell joined the fray. Oscar focused on the second tank and scoped an Imperial darting out of cover. A single pull followed by a heavy crack sent the masked soldier to the ground, convulsing and clutching the hole in his chest.

_Ignore the blood. Keep shooting. Squeeze the trigger, don't jerk it._ He imagined the words in his drill sergeant's voice, complete with liberal use of the word 'maggots' over and over. Grabbing the bolt, he locked in a fresh round with a heavy click before sighting his next target. _They're the enemy, they'll kill you if they can. Ignore the blood. Keep shooting._

Rolling further up, Lulubell came to a stop next to a previously wrecked vehicle, putting it between her and the northernmost road. Her thick turret locked on the live tank, spitting smoke and fire as she launched a second shell. Oscar saw the flash through his scope as Lulubell's target erupted in flames.

"Enemy is KIA!" Kiril announced over the radio, backed by the clatter of another round being loaded.

All this in a matter of minutes; the shell-shocked Imperials could barely return fire, taking scattered shots at half-seen muzzle flashes. One lancer fired hastily at Lulubell, missing by a mile and harmlessly blasting a chunk out of the building far behind her.

Seeing a soldier charging through the fire, Oscar smoothly lined up a shot to the body. The bullet went cleanly through its target and punched out the back, though to the sniper's surprise the now-dying soldier kept staggering forward. The Imperial got eight steps further before a machine gun burst finally cut his charge short.

As before, anger had overcome squeamishness and fear. Oscar's hands were steady as they reloaded the rifle, and with clenched teeth he sighted his next victim. _I'll kick you all out of my country myself if I have to! Come on!_

The radio crackled as it carried Juno's voice again. "It looks like they're pulling back, but we've got a lot of smoke blocking the roads! I need a visual!"

She was right, if the sniper's retreating target was any indication. He made an effort to lead the shot and pulled the trigger, but flinched at the last second when a bullet pinged on the wall next to him. A critical distraction, and his own shot landed too far ahead.

"Team four, we've got runners. Looks like they're trying to regroup."

"Roger that, save your ammo! No lead unless you see movement inside the perimeter," Ballard ordered.

Silently cursing, Oscar reluctantly brought the binoculars back up to his eyes. The rapidly-dying fires were no longer obstacles for the few surviving Imperials, and as the heavy guns stopped they took their chances. In the center, beyond the smoke, Oscar saw more light spilling around the corners: headlights from approaching vehicles.

He grabbed the radio mic again and thumbed the talk button. "Looks like they're bringing more armor in, down the center this-"

All of a sudden the retreating soldiers seized and tumbled to the ground, fresh wounds carved into them from something out of sight. With Gallian and Federation weapons now quiet, the conspicuous thudding of a distant machine gun was easy to pinpoint.

Oscar had to look twice when he saw an Imperial APC drive around the corner, its sealed turret aiming towards its fallen comrades. The weapon kicked into action again, raking a bloody line across their bodies as if to make absolutely sure they wouldn't get up.

Mouth agape, his mind struggled to understand what was his gut spelled out for him.

* * *

><p>"What the..." Alex began, unable to do more than watch as the APC ruthlessly gunned its own soldiers down. The vehicle then casually pushed into the intersection, its tires mauling one of the men it had just shot.<p>

A male voice on the radio offered the only explanation. "No retreat, no surrender. Thought that was just a myth."

Juno couldn't keep the look of shock off her face, though Oscar's cry of alarm brought her back to her senses. "Multiple targets closing in, all directions!" he announced through the radio. "Tank to the north!"

"We've got the tank in sight, shell's on the way!"

Lulubell's cannon pierced the din of battle, which was more than could be said for the shot it took. Her shell connected with the far-off tank, but only as a glancing blow that did little more than dent the chassis and get its attention.

Alex found himself busy with a more immediate problem. Below, the advancing Imperials flung themselves behind what cover they could find. The town hall's MG cut short their attempts to push forward, but from the second floor the shocktrooper could plainly see them fanning out. Triggering a burst at one of the soldiers, he was soon forced away from the window by answering gunfire.

Opposite him, Juno waited for a break in the shooting before leaning out. Her rifle found a scout making a run for the town hall, just outside team two's cone of fire. Two quick snaps with one hit barely broke the trooper's stride, but the third landed a lucky headshot to finish the job.

Suddenly, bright red flashes cut across the square, adding trails of smoke to the growing haze of battle. Several of the flares soared into the sky, others towards the emplaced guns, and for a moment everything was as bright as day.

"Damn, another wave is coming in!" said Alex between shots, winging an Imperial trooper even as two more arrived to help. The soldiers below were gradually building up a tenuous line by a previously destroyed tank, held at bay by team two's gun but more than close enough to shoot back.

Ballard radioed in again, the first hints of strain entering his voice. "Team three is pinned down! We have infantry advancing under coordinated fire on our position! Get some heat on that APC!"

Ellie was quick to answer. "Don't have a good shot from here! Anti-armor is repositioning!"

Imperial fire pushed both Alex and Juno away from the window, with several rounds blasting through the wall itself and sprinkling both with wood and wallpaper. The shocktrooper reeled back, flailing an arm in a feeble attempt to keep dust out of his face.

"I told you we needed more firepower!" he yelled to Juno.

The scout leader awkwardly poked her gun over the windowsill and fired, hoping it was in the general direction of their attackers. "How's your throwing arm?" she asked, more of a shout with the constant peppering of gunshots.

Guessing at the implication, Alex felt around and unclipped a grenade. "Never had one, but I'll try almost anything once!"

"What do you mean? I thought you were into sports and stuff!"

"As a _fan!_ I mean, I can climb and all, but..."

Juno worked out an empty magazine, flinching as a bullet knifed through the wall mere inches above her head. "Whatever, you can probably still get it farther! They're trying to get inside the perimeter. Just get it past that busted tank, I'll keep you covered, all right?"

Pinching the cap with his fingers, Alex waited for Juno to finish reloading. "Ready when you are!"

"Let's go!"

The scout leader sprung out of hiding, rifle trained on the twisted chunk of metal that had been a tank. Seeing one of the soldiers taking aim aim, she slammed the trigger down in haste, caring more about shooting than hitting. As she fired, Alex primed his grenade and hurled it out the window as hard as his arm could manage.

Descending flares and undamaged streetlights still shed light on the square, though it was dark enough that the clustered Imperials didn't see the grenade coming. It wobbled unsteadily in the air, lacking a smooth arc but carried by enough force to bounce alongside the wreckage.

Suppressing fire kept Alex and Juno from seeing the explosion, but the sharp bang stood out easily; moreso as the gunfire abruptly stopped. Nodding to each other they broke cover as one, the scattered and wounded Imperials making for easy pickings.

Another explosion, another hostile tank up in flames. Lulubell trundled forward into sight, its turret tracking a separate pocket of infantry. "Tank down, switching to co-ax!" said Kiril.

"Lancer on your eleven, I got 'em!"

Stopping to reload, Alex saw the head of a particularly large soldier jerk back painfully, lance tumbling to the ground. With no other threats nearby, Lulubell brought her machine gun to life and promptly began sweeping the streets.

"Nice shot, Oscar! Hope he didn't need that!"

Lancer shells burned in from afar towards the APC, smoke trailing from distant windows. The vehicle gunned its engine but moved mere feet before the shells hit their marks. It wasn't a kill, but good enough, a tire blown off its axle and passenger-side exit knocked inwards. She wasn't going anywhere.

Alex found a spare second to flash a grin towards Juno. "Hot damn, are we doing this?"

Not ready to smile just yet, Juno pushed her slipping glasses back up her nose. "I think so, Alex. I think we just might..."

She was cut off by the boom of a tank firing, too far away to be friendly. An unseen shell slammed into Lulubell with a thunderous report and a thick puff of smoke. Her treads squealed as they ground on the pavement, the blast forcibly shoving her back a foot or so.

"Taking fire, one o'clock! No visual!"

Juno flinched at the shot, searching the square for the source of the attack. "Spoke too soon..."

"Yeah, way to jinx it, Juno," said Alex sarcastically, squinting into the smoke. He could barely see the other end of the square, with the exits hopelessly obscured. He swore it was growing thicker by the minute, more than gunfire alone could have added.

Oscar reported in next. "I don't see anything up here, there's too much... wait. Wait, what is that?"

Alex left the window and ran to the radio. "Oscar, man, what's going on?"

"Guys, we've got trouble!" The sniper's concerned tone could have told Alex that much. "Heavy smoke on the northeast approach, I can't see through it! I think they're laying down some kind of barrier!"

Mindful of other attackers, Juno strained her eyes watching the growing cloud. She couldn't see exactly where it was coming from, though it did seem thicker in that direction, and it was spreading noticeably. Shots continued to echo throughout the square as each team dealt with infantry, the noise keeping her from hearing anything useful.

"Gotta be smoke grenades," said Alex. Flippantly, he added, "They _so_ stole that from us."

The smoke churned violently as a second round was launched, with only a brief, wide orange glow in the cloud to hint at a source. Lulubell had spun her treads up to dodge the second blow, but it was too late. The explosion that followed spun the commandos' tank like a top, a deep hole scored by the impact.

Suddenly, Freesia's voice bolted through the radio. "We caught a glimpse of the tank over here! It's still near the entrance, just off to our side! There's some weird launcher mounted on top!"

Despite the smoke, the dancer's words helped Juno get a fix on where she meant. Spotting was easy, targeting was another matter. Lulubell's crew needed a point of reference to place a blind shot with any hope of hitting.

"Alex, tell them this," she said urgently. "Take aim at the wreck on their two and rotate five degrees counterclockwise. Fire and move!"

Obediently, the shocktrooper relayed her orders word-for-word, and Juno watched as Lulubell took action. Her cannon's fierce reply connected with something, sending up a brilliant flash within the cloud. _That's gotta be a hit, just hitting the building behind it wouldn't be that bright._

Juno's reasoning stopped as she noticed Lulubell wasn't moving. The battle lulled at just the right moment to hear a tread clawing at the road, only one of them.

Seconds later a new set of treads growled and the enemy tank slowly crawled out of the cloud: an ugly, heavy monster that, she guessed, held whoever was directing the assault. The twisted carriage of a calliope launcher hung limply off to its side like a flap of torn, dead skin. Its main gun, however, was live and looked eager to hit back.

"What's going on?" asked Alex.

Juno felt her chest tighten, straining her breath. "I think we just made it mad," she muttered, as if afraid to draw attention to herself.

"We got damage on the right skirt, the tread's stuck!" Kiril yelled, his composure fading fast. "Lulubell's a mobility kill! We are bailing out! Everybody out, let's..."

Bang. Lulubell was on her side in the blink of an eye. The radio went silent.

* * *

><p>Freesia watched helplessly as the heavy tank blasted Lulubell off her treads like a toy. The dancer's ears were ringing as her team's machine gun went dead, spent stopping a wave of soldiers from charging their ground-level nest.<p>

"I'm out, need to change belts!" said the gunner, prompting the other masked commando to crack open an ammo box.

Next to her, Preston nodded and moved up to the window. "Got you covered!"

Every passing minute added to the mayhem: more bodies on the ground, more lead in the air, more smoke and dust covering it all. A wild shot with a tank shell had nailed the building adjacent to the office they were using, knocking a huge hole in the wall and spewing debris out onto the street. Freesia tried to ignore the smell as she took aim, sweating profusely under the mounting pressure.

Ellie spoke through the radio, sounding rattled and hoarse. "We see the tank, we're moving to engage."

"Team three copies. They're lightening up on this side, we'll cover you. I see movement by Lulubell's hatch, somebody get those men out of there!"

Freesia's target brought her attention to the small 'front' the Imperials had created. Even the main gun at the town hall couldn't keep them all suppressed, and she saw them peppering the second floor window where Juno and Alex had holed up. Slowly, steadily, the Imperials advanced under covering fire, emboldened by their remaining tank.

_The crowd's getting rowdy,_ she thought, pulling the trigger and silencing one member of the audience. She couldn't keep up with every moving shape on the field, losing a rapid count around twenty-five. _We're losing this._

Preston found his own mark and put a few rounds out, narrowly missing a trooper in mid-sprint. "Foxtrot can't be far off now, we just have to hold a little longer!"

The gun clacked loudly as a commando secured the belt and chambered the first bullet. "We're live, let 'er rip!" he shouted to the one on the trigger.

Freesia and Preston got out of the way as the gun roared to life, putting a thumb down on a pack of troopers. Oddly, she saw the silhouette of one of them heading off; retreating, she thought, until seeing the conspicuous shape of his weapon.

"There's a sniper moving on the right flank!" She left the window and whipped an arm out to the radio. "Oscar, watch for snipers, I saw one on the right just north of us!"

"Copy that, I see 'em. Good call, Freesia!"

As if sensing the attention, the enemy sniper stopped and readied his rifle. She released the microphone and did likewise, squinting down the sight and tilting slightly upwards. _He's got a target. It's a long shot, but I gotta take it!_

Three shots went off almost at once, mere additions to the noise around them. The shadowy sniper staggered backwards and to the ground, limply grasping the hole where a vital organ had been.

The dancer smirked, lowering her smoking rifle. _Figures he'd get the kill first_, she thought, turning back to her Federation teammates.

Preston's face had frozen in shock, so suddenly that it genuinely startled Freesia. "Oh _shit_... tell me that wasn't them," he muttered.

"What happened?" Freesia asked, following Preston's wide-eyed stare to a distant puff of smoke. To her it looked like all the other ones coming up from the ongoing battle, though the fear gnawing at her said something important had been in it.

Juno radioed in, clarifying and confirming in the same stuttering sentence. "Uh... I-I think that was the lancers. I think that was Ellie."

"Yeah... that was our anti-armor team," said Ballard grimly. "We saw it over here, the sniper shot and once of their lances just blew up. They're both down."

Preston shared a worried look with Freesia and the commandos, the words _"What do we do now?"_ going unspoken.

The heavy tank fired once more, blowing a large hole in the foyer of the town hall. Again, the Imperials pressed the attack. "Someone's gotta take out that tank," Ballard urged. "Grenade the treads or drop one in the hatch, something, anything! We can't hold with that thing pounding us!"

"You gotta be kidding me!" cried a female commando. The noise from her end placed her close to where the shell had hit. "Sir, the tank and our lancers are down! We need to pull back!"

_"We need to pull back!"_ The words came from the past, flashing through Freesia's mind and letting her find the similarities. Her eyes fell on the tank, driving closer to the hall but still closest to her team's nest. _No way... no way, not again._

"I'm going out there," Preston said firmly, patting his pouches until he found one carrying a grenade. " Keep me covered!"

One of the commandos objected. "Pres, it's suicide! You're not exactly fast on your feet, and even if you _get_ to the thing..."

Freesia played back her memories: a massive mobile fortress, a warrior-general wielding mythical power, a desperate gambit to drive them both off. Not a clean fit, but it ended the way she knew this was going to. Ballard was right, someone would have to get on the thing and take it out.

"I know, man, I know. But someone has to, we can't just leave them to die out there!"

Her heart pounded a nervous beat through her chest. _I can do it,_ she thought. The words were a farce even in her head, a failed attempt to make it seem like a choice. _I have to do it,_ is what she meant. No one else had been left standing last time. It had fallen to her, precisely the last person who felt she could handle it. The blue, glowing _thing_ had pointed its alien weapon and fired, nearly flattening her like an insect; like all the others. She was lucky, not good. She could have been killed.

"I can do it," she said aloud, ignoring the litany of fears running free in her thoughts. _At least it's a lot smaller than the Batomys._

Everyone turned, but only Preston seemed unsurprised. "You sure, York?" he asked, concerned but quick on the uptake. At any other time, the dancer might have wondered why he didn't ask "Are you serious?" instead.

She nodded, ill at ease but seeing no other choice. "I'll need some help, but yeah, I can do it. It's not gonna get much closer, if we're taking it out we gotta go now."

Opposite the gun emplacement, the office's entrance beckoned from behind its flimsy, improvised barricade. Preston jogged over to the door and started pushing the desk out of the way. "All right, I'm with you. You guys, keep those bastards off us. I'll run interference until you get on that tank, all right?"

The commando on the MG shook his head, but went back to firing. "You guys are nuts! Give 'em Hel out there!"

Tentatively, Preston touched the door handle, ready to push it open. Freesia couldn't see any soldiers through the door's window, but little cover sat between them and the tank. Smoke and debris made it almost impossible to spot anything beyond the armor, and she could only hope for no unseen surprises on the way.

Second thoughts blended with a general fear of responsibility, a potent form of stage fright she was more than familiar with. Pride and confidence prevented her from saying 'no' to duty, but she kept waiting for it to feel more natural. She wanted to feel like she wasn't in way over her head.

Even after Barious, that feeling hadn't gone anywhere.

"You sure you can do this?" Preston asked.

Squeezing her rifle, the dancer fought to squelch the anxiety. Somehow she found her voice and the smile to go with it. "Watch me dance!"

With that, Preston shoved the door open and the two took off, charging across open ground as fast as they could muster. The streets dipped and swayed with every hurried step, and she momentarily lost her footing on a loose chunk of rubble. Startled, she righted herself in time to catch movement out the corner of her eye.

"Enemy sighted, left side!" she shouted, raising her weapon.

The trooper was tracking them, but they were quicker. Rifle and SMG fire put him down in less than a second.

"Contact, prone by that rubble!" Preston called out. She saw it too, a scout bracing his barrel on a fallen cinderblock. He whirled and snapped off a shot, but it missed. They didn't.

A brief pause; scout and shocktrooper searched for others amidst the haze. "Clear, let's keep moving," said Preston.

Though the tank wasn't exactly hiding, its features grew more distinct as they approached. Vehicles weren't her specialty, but Freesia could scarce believe the thick, sturdy armor allowed it to move, let alone fight. By fate or design flaw it had no side-facing guns, leaving room to accommodate the two turrets up front: a shorter, stouter one on the bottom with a longer 'queen' turret up top.

An Imperial flag flew proudly from a pole on the back end, telling her what she had already suspected; a thought Preston voiced for her. "That's an ace tank!" he said. "They wouldn't use that to flank, these guys gotta be after something else!"

"We'll sort this out later," she said. "Come on!"

Together they approached the tank, which had done the favor of sitting still to shell the hall. Freesia looked for telltale flashes on the ground, muzzle flare from soldiers using the beast for cover. She saw none, which only told her that the soldiers had already advanced. _Don't tell me we're too late_, she worried, breaking into a run towards the rear of the tank.

"On the right! Keep going, I got these guys!"

Gunfire rang out behind her as she broke into a sprint, sizing up her approach. The engine was well protected by a solid casing, hiding the obvious weak point but serving as a suitable platform. Someone on her right went down in a pained grunt, but over her footsteps she heard a closer _thwip_ of a bullet hitting home.

She didn't need to hear Preston curse to know he'd been struck. The noose of responsibility tightened around her neck. _Damn it. Damn it!_

Slinging her rifle, she leaped at the tank and braced a hand on the engine casing. The heat seeped through her gloves, almost burning her hands. With practiced grace she pushed up off the ground, propping a foot on the casing to launch herself further up. The jump became a mantle as her other foot found a conveniently large bolt, and in one fluid motion she was crouched atop the vehicle.

Her legs ached in protest, the stretch from the block a bit wider than she was prepared for. She had little time to recover, however, as the tank suddenly lurched forward, jostling and nearly knocking her over.

As the tank lumbered through the square, Freesia clung tightly to the roof. She struggled to crawl towards the hatch, barely able to see the handhold in front of her. Preston had called out to her, but his voice quickly faded beneath the growling engine and ongoing battle. _They gotta know I'm up here, he's trying to shake me off_, she thought. _This is stupid! What are you doing up here, Freesia? Does anything good EVER happen when it all comes down to you?_

More flares shot up around the tank, painting the air with glowing smoke and throwing much-needed light in front of Freesia. Before long the turret itself was in arm's reach, thankfully unmoving. She soon saw why: the hatch flipped open and the cold glint of a revolver tilted around the lid.

Still processing what was happening, she tried frantically to unfasten her rifle. It had only begun to slide off her shoulder when the hidden crewman fired, sending a bullet across the tank's roof.

Just as she put her finger on the trigger, a cloud of red mist burst violently from behind the lid. The Imperial cried out briefly and crumpled over, the revolver tumbling from his hand and clattering to the ground.

Freesia noticed the tank had spun towards the hall again. The clock tower made it easy to connect the dots. _Thanks, Oscar._

Wasting no time, the dancer unhooked a grenade and scrambled into position above the hatch. Past the slain crewman she could just hear the panicked shouts of his cohorts, which grew all the more pronounced as she yanked the pin and chucked the explosive down the hole.

Morbid curiosity wasn't enough for her to stick around for the blast. Discarding finesse, she stood up and dashed across the roof towards the rear again.

Without warning a hot, stinging pain knifed along the side of her waist, overpowering the steady ache of strained muscles. Freesia twisted and nearly doubled over, aware that she hadn't even heard the shot. Between the tank's determined pace and her own momentum she practically fell towards the back end of the tank. Bracing herself, she took a long leap just as she heard the grenade go off.

Years of training at keeping balance, and she still landed with a sloppy thud, albeit on her feet. The shock of the landing sent a fresh bolt of pain through her injury, this time dragging a short scream out of her throat. It turned into a mangled groan as she forced herself forward, encouraged by successive blasts coming from the mass of metal behind her.

A figure approached from her right. Reflexively grasping her wound, she was slow to go for her gun.

"Whoa! Easy, York, it's me!"

Limping towards her, Preston pointed his weapon at the ground. He grimaced as weight fell on his injured left thigh, but he looked on in approval as the tank erupted into flames. "I'll be goddamned. C'mon, let's get to cover!"

* * *

><p>Juno felt her arm growing sore, recoil pushing the rifle insistently into her shoulder. With no other armored threats in the square, she had indulged in a brief moment of triumph. Only a moment, however; her attention soon returned to the mess in front of her, taking turns with Alex at the window.<p>

Below, the Imperials were in obvious disarray. Shots still rained in from multiple corners of the square, but they were dwarfed by the torrent of lead pouring back. One of hers struck a retreating trooper, scaring what was left of his fireteam back behind the burning hulk of the heavy tank.

Conflicting emotions waged a parallel war within her. She wasn't naive enough to think it was over. Doubts ran up a laundry list of the plan's failures: the sheer number of enemies, the damage to Lulubell, the status of their wounded. She didn't remember hearing casualty reports over the radio, though 'remember' was the key bit. Any number of things could still go wrong, and she didn't even want to think about what came next; what to do about their temporary allies, about the mysterious vault, about the battle that waited for them at Naggiar.

And yet, for the first time since the battle began, victory seemed possible. She slid in her last clip, swallowing to soothe her dry throat. Alex's boundless energy seemed closer than ever to the breaking point, the neat freak too tired to deal with the grime that coated his forehead. Through the window she saw Freesia and Preston limp away from the tank, both wounded and perhaps gravely so.

"To all Bravo elements, this is Foxtrot-six! We're coming up on a fleeing group of Imperials, all infantry! We'll be at the square shortly, over!"

The speaker was male, his words hampered by an annoying high pitch and the crackle of radio static. Juno had never been happier to hear a stranger's voice.

"Roger that, Foxtrot-six!" answered Ballard. "All units, check your fire, we have friendlies coming in from the northeast!"

Alex worked up another one of his grins. Juno at last allowed herself to smile back, just a bit.

Victory seemed possible.

For once, Welkin wasn't anywhere on her mind.


	8. Interlude

**Things Left Behind**

A Valkyria Chronicles fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun

_Notes: I really should stop saying "this time will be different," re: chapters taking a while. It's never different, is it Steve?_

_This is mostly an update on Irene's part of the tale, shedding some light on her role in all this. I admit, I have a soft spot for crusading reporter types, no matter how cliche the role gets. Also, there's a marked difference between how she sounds in-game and her chapter narration, so I'm assuming she can be a bit more serious when she thinks it's necessary. Or maybe they were two different actresses and I'm reading too much into this._

_I apologize in advance for the use of you'll-soon-find-out. Without giving too much away, let me just say I at least tried to do my homework on this, and it will not end in some horribly contrived fashion. In fact that's probably the one aspect of the plot I've quite clearly thought out ahead of time. The rest, as you may have gathered, is somewhat more organic._

_Last note: had "My Name is Tom" off the Spy Game soundtrack playing on a loop towards the end. Good stuff to go with a sense of loss and regret. Anyhoo, enjoy the chapter, and C&C to your heart's content!_

* * *

><p><strong>Interlude<strong>

Present day - November 24, 1936

* * *

><p><em>"Irene,<em>

_I've found your man. Turns out he was discharged recently; section eight, mentally unfit for duty. Before that they passed him through a few hospitals, and the paper trail ends at Wellington Memorial in Shelway. He's still there, though I don't know for how long. Nobody could give me a straight summary of his medical history, but he's definitely a trauma case. What's odd is one of my contacts suggested he had mental issues before the mission._

_You asked for an educated guess, so here it is. If Rhodall was your usual covert ops SNAFU, both Gallia and the Federation would speak out publicly but do little until they found someone to blame. More to the point, their responses would be inconsistent, like they weren't sharing talking points. Whatever your militia friends dug up, it was old, embarrassing, and both sides knew exactly what it was._

_Sorry this took so long, the civil war's got everybody across the border on edge. Let your friend know he's alive. As for what he knows, you're better equipped for an interview than I am."_

_- Research notes, Appendix D: Miscellaneous Correspondence (sender's name redacted)_

* * *

><p>"Mrs. Koller?"<p>

The doctor's voice pulled Irene out of her newspaper, which she folded and placed back on the table. Rising from her chair, she met his outstretched hand in a firm shake. "That's me. Dr. Baines, I presume?" she asked with a smile.

Leonard Baines - senior psychiatrist, according to his hospital badge - smiled back and nodded gently. His receding hairline had long lost its original color, and his free hand kept a tight grip on a worn, scratched wooden cane. "My apologies for the wait. If you'll follow me, please."

Irene was led out of the waiting area through a pair of double doors. Their footsteps echoed down the long, white hallway, the sound accompanied by the rain outside and a young orderly wheeling an empty gurney away. In contrast to the building's exterior, the hospital proper looked clean and well cared for. Despite the doctor's kindly appearance however, the reporter couldn't help but feel apprehensive. Following up on a long-shot lead was complex enough, more so when his very mental state was in question.

It didn't help that her interviewee had made a rather unexpected request. _Didn't think she was the type to care. At least, not this much.  
><em>

Hard evidence sat tucked under her arm, a package meant for someone that could corroborate the whole sad story. Allegations of ancient secrets, cover-ups, betrayals; Irene had lived and breathed this alongside Squad 7 and was all too ready to believe it. However, she knew her readers, and actual historians, wouldn't be so quick to join her. Not without proof.

_"Are you sure he can back up your story?"_

_"I don't think anyone else can. Besides, he deserved better than what happened to him... I think I saw a little of myself in him."_

Another hospital worker walked by, waving to the doctor. Taking care with each step, Baines stole a glance out a passing window; poorly sealed, if the sudden draft was any indication. The storm showed no sign of letting up, rain still tapping insistently at the glass. "Dreadful weather lately," he muttered, then looked at Irene. "I trust you had no trouble getting here?"

"Nah, it was smooth sailing." Thunder rumbled through the window, the lightning strike close enough to see the flash. "Relatively."

"Good, I was hoping the trip wouldn't be a bother. If he responds to your inquiry, it could clear up a great many things."

She remembered sending the original letter, a carefully-worded request for an interview with a patient. She honestly hadn't expected a reply, let alone one that explained anything about her mystery man. "He is awake, right? I understand he'd been in a coma."

He hobbled around a corner, signs leading the two of them towards 'Psychiatric Ward' and 'Long-Term Care.' "Yes, he lapsed at the field hospital. He did recover after several months and took well to rehabilitation, but his mind is the concern now. He is conscious and quite lucid, but the poor man has been through a lot. We still know little of what happened to him before or even during the mission."

"How much does he remember?" asked Irene, growing more concerned. The doctor's letter had mentioned memory loss, but to what extent remained unclear.

"Unfortunately, very little," said Baines regretfully. "Based on your correspondence, you know more than we do about him. Formal inquiries were met with silence. Either his record is sealed, or nonexistent. Regardless, the implicit statement is clear."

Irene shrugged a shoulder, adjusting her hold on the package. "They just want to bury it," she finished for him. "If your government's anything like ours, they love their 'state secrets' clause. And I thought getting stories past the Captain was a hassle."

"Truly, I expected nothing else," said the doctor, clearing his throat. "In any event, we deal with psychological trauma often here. At some point he had a stress reaction, that much is clear, but the gaps in his recollection are far more severe than can be attributed to combat fatigue. Something terrible happened, possibly to this young man in particular, and it likely exacerbated a prior condition."

"So I've been told," she replied. Nagging doubts gnawed at her, though she lacked for other explanations. "One witness was with him for most of the time, and gave me this package to deliver."

"Dare I ask what's inside?"

"Evidence, apparently. It belongs to him, and she said it might help." Irene pried the cap off her head, tucking it next to the package. Smoothing out her matted hair, she added, "The whole thing is just strange. Our own army locked the area down after the war. It stinks of a cover-up, but there's no other way to prove what she told me. Even the rest of the team weren't their usual selves when I brought it up."

Baines nodded gravely. "I see. In any case, the official report didn't even mention Rhodall - you didn't hear that from me, by the way - so anything you can confirm will be invaluable."

Irene had a hunch that getting his help wouldn't be as simple as retelling the story. "If he can't remember anything, what do we do? "

"In my experience, most memory loss is temporary. If we understand what happened, patients can be walked back to varying degrees." Another peal of thunder rumbled through the building, accenting the 'but' that Irene knew was coming. "But broad memory loss is vanishingly rare, and in every known case it was rooted in an existing condition. I'm afraid neuroscience is still a young discipline and treatment options are... limited."

The doctor guided her around a corner towards a stretch of rooms, worn dress shoes clacking on the tiled floor. A passing nurse smiled at him as she tended to her own patient: a twitching, middle-aged fellow in a white paper gown. As they passed, Irene couldn't help but notice a stump where a hand should have been.

She was no stranger to the war's lasting casualties, but, as the doctor said, the mind was very much a question mark to Europan medicine. Even if her lead could remember anything, there was no guarantee he'd be in any shape to talk about it. "Are you sure he'll be willing to see me?" she asked. "I could just tell you what she told me."

"No one has visited since the army investigator after he awoke from his coma," said Baines with a shake of the head. "Your information could lead to a breakthrough, but I'm concerned it coming from hospital staff might mute the effect. We only recently had to relay the discharge notice to him, and suffice to say I feel he would respond more positively to a guest."

Irene knew what that meant. A section eight was little better than a dishonorable discharge; no pay, no benefits, and no access to hospitals specializing in mental health. Her patient was living on borrowed time.

She was now more concerned about losing him than startling him. "Is there anything else you can tell me about him?"

"There are any number of asylums that could hold him indefinitely if we felt he was dangerous; little more than prisons, really. He certainly wouldn't be seeing visitors. Personally, he's been nothing but cooperative, polite even. Understandably depressed, but remarkably well adjusted given what he's been through."

"Is he going to be released soon?"

The doctor gestured to a seated orderly, who guarded the last room down the hall. "Technically we should have done so already," he sighed. "I filed an emergency extension, a mere procedural delay at this point. Barring any developments, we'll have to let him go at the end of the month."

More thunder rumbled through the building, a taste of what awaited the soon-to-be-discharged patient. Irene didn't have to think hard about what might happen to a patient with nowhere to go. "How terrible," she said in sympathy, lacking for a stronger word.

"Indeed. It's a damned crime." A weary look fell onto his face, his hand gripping the cane tighter. "Too many of these people will never know peace. Ask them if it was all worth it, and most don't even understand what they've sacrificed. And the best we can do is... study. And hope."

His bitter tone didn't go unnoticed. _He takes it personally_, she thought. Briefly, she wondered if it came from habit or experience, and whether the cane and slight limp had anything to do with it.

The bored-looking orderly rose from his chair as they approached. From his muscular upper body and the way he towered over the doctor, Irene had no trouble guessing who got stuck with the heavy lifting.

"I'm afraid we're receiving another patient today, and it requires my attention," said Baines, motioning to the guard. "I'll introduce you to him, but Robbins, here, will be on hand if you need anything."

Despite his size and fixed expression, Robbins had an air of intellect about him. "A pleasure, Mrs. Koller," he said with a polite bow of the head. "I told him he had a guest, but I don't think he believed me."

Baines frowned. "I expected as much." To the reporter, he asked, "If you're prepared, then?"

Irene was tilting back and forth between eager and anxious, but both sides were ready for answers. "No time like the present."

The doctor stepped past Robbins and knocked firmly on the wooden door. Not waiting for a reply, he turned the knob and pushed the door open, with Irene following him closely. "Hello, Lloyd!" he greeted with practiced cheer as he stepped inside. "How are you feeling today?"

The young patient sat propped up against the wall, lost in thought and gazing absently out the foggy window. He gave a short nod to the doctor, bangs of reddish-brown hair bouncing down over his forehead from the motion. "Hey, Doctor B. Same as usual." The answer sounded equally rehearsed; tired, even, as if just sitting up in his bed was taxing.

Irene followed the doctor into the room, atypically wary. She'd met wounded soldiers before, but trauma cases were harder to approach, and Lloyd looked more fragile than most. As Baines had said, he seemed fine physically, if a bit on the slim side for a soldier; Irene guessed he hadn't been outside in a while. Still, the slight hunch and sullen stare spoke of a man who had spent countless hours in that exact position. The picture struck her with an overwhelming sense of sadness. The room was virtually devoid of personal objects: no books, no "get well" cards, no indication he had ever served. Only a notebook sat unattended on a counter, a nearby cracked pen hinting at unspoken frustrations. _He's waiting for answers,_ she wondered. _They never came._

Baines sidestepped out of Irene's way. "I've got some good news for you, son. You've got a visitor today."

"Very funny," the patient flatly replied, not budging from his seat.

"I'm quite serious," said Baines evenly. "I have someone here who has taken an interest in your case. She's a reporter, and she'd like to ask you some questions."

"You're not an easy man to track down," Irene joined in, doing her best to sound pleasant and upbeat.

Lloyd finally turned from the window. Upon seeing Irene, his eyes widened in momentary disbelief, though the fatigue quickly set back in. "Oh, so he was telling the truth," he said calmly, as if that was the only issue. "I see. Something I can help you with, Miss...?"

"Koller, Irene Koller," she smiled. "A pleasure to meet you."

He gradually shifted his body, swinging his legs down off the bed and facing her directly. "Yeah, you too." His voice, a low rumble, barely wavered in tone. "I'm sure Doctor B's told you I don't remember much."

"That's actually why she's here," said Baines. "Mrs. Koller was embedded with a Gallian militia unit during the war, and she believes you crossed paths with them at some point. One of them remembered you."

The patient was unmoved. "They'd be the first."

_Not fazed by much, is he?_ Irene noted. _Well, I figured this would take some digging. Time to put those journalism skills to use._

Baines leaned into his cane as he pushed himself around, heading for the door. "I have to step out for another patient, but I will return to check on you two. In the meantime, just call if you need anything."

Irene nodded to him. "Thanks, doctor."

Excusing himself, Baines left the two alone in the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Irene returned to the patient, who rolled his arms back in a languid stretch.

"So," he yawned, sitting upright. "Where should we start?"

Setting her belongings on the counter, Irene dug through her satchel and pulled out a notepad and pen. "Let's start with the basics," she said. "What was the last thing you remember?"

He shrugged. "Honestly? Waking up in another hospital, the doctor asking me that same question."

"Fair enough. As the doctor mentioned, I chronicled the war from Gallia's perspective." She flipped through her notes, trying to keep her voice steady and avoid words that implied expectations. "Near the southern border, there's a town called Rhodall. A small team from our squad went there on a reconnaissance mission, and what they found caused quite a stir."

She stopped to make sure he was paying attention, satisfied by the quick nod he gave her. "You see, they were investigating Imperial activity, thinking the Empire was trying to cut around their front lines," she explained. "The scouts crossed paths with a detachment of Federation troops, special forces, and they were under the same impression: the Imperials were using Gallia to strike at the Federation."

"Sounds like an international incident waiting to happen."

"You're more right than you know," said the reporter, holding back a chuckle. "It involved some underground vault that had been kept secret, and it remained secret after the war. The army clamped down on all information about it. I've interviewed the team, and what they said was... interesting, but there's little evidence to support it. No one else can confirm the story. Nobody except you."

His brow twitched in mild curiosity. "Do tell."

She took a seat on a nearby chair, keeping a comfortable distance between them. "Only one of the team actually saw what the vault was hiding, but apparently you saw it, too. Are you sure you don't remember anything?"

Lloyd reached up and slid a hand along the back of his neck, and she could imagine the gears spinning behind his eyes. "I admit, I've tried to piece it together, but there's little to go on. I 'know' I was in the army, and I 'know' something happened to me, but I don't remember. It's like..."

Her pen danced a sketchy routine on the page, leaving quick notes behind: _Did own research. Kept active._ "Take your time."

"It's like... grasping at fog. You know it's there, but if you try to reach out to it, it just feels... empty, empty and cold." Hints of stress crept into his voice. His bare toes sought out a ledge along the bed and he started unconsciously bouncing his leg. "I... can sometimes imagine things. Doctor B said it might be fragments, but they never helped sort anything out. Could just be my mind filling in the blanks, for all I know."

_It's better than nothing_, she thought, scribbling down what he said in shorthand. "What kinds of things?"

The patient swallowed quietly, fidgeting uncomfortably on the bed. "Voices. Faces, dimly. You said there was some vault? Something about that does sound... ah, familiar's a bit strong, but it feels like something I should know. I still can't remember anything useful, though."

"It's a start," said Irene. She turned to another page, which listed a timeline of events as she understood them. "Here's what we'll do. I'm going to walk you through this, and I want you to stop me if anything rings a bell. When we're done, there's something I want you to look at, something a friend wanted you to have."

"No offense, but you're being kinda vague here, Mrs. Koller." His leg stilled as his curiosity grew, though his tone came from a deep well of cynicism. "Who's this friend? What exactly happened to me?"

"One of the militia scouts, more of a mutual acquaintance," said the reporter, omitting that her witness had indeed used the word 'friend.' "You had just met that night, so I can't say what happened to you before. But the way they tell it, you were all lucky just to get out of there."

He slouched backward, his eyes lowered to the floor. "Yeah, lucky me," he glumly muttered. "Spent six months in a coma, had to answer question when I woke up, and been sitting here ever since. Wondering when someone's going to tell me what happened. Thinking, 'maybe today someone will come looking for me, wondering where I've been, if I was okay.' No one ever came. No friends, no family... did I even have any? I honestly don't know."

Irene watched as Lloyd continued, his olive eyes clouded with pain. "A whole life, gone. My service record, gone. Everything there is to know about me, just poof... like it never happened. It's all I've had to think about for the last six months, and I was starting to accept that no one was coming. Now you're here, and that can only mean something really bad happened. Sure, lucky me."

She stayed silent as he poured out his thoughts, keeping her pen strokes short and discreet. As if just now hearing what he had said, he broke eye contact and let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry, I'm being rude. Believe me, I would like to help, and not just for my own sake."

"It's okay," she said reassuringly. "I can only imagine how this feels for you."

He sat up straight, groaning as something popped on his back. "Thing is, every time I asked about the mission, the doctors get nervous and change the subject. I didn't even know what branch I served in. And I... I just get this impression, maybe it's better to forget. Maybe I'm better off not knowing."

The last few words triggered a spark inside Irene, a subject she knew a thing or two about. An opportunity presented itself, one that spoke to the reporter on a personal level. "Do you really think so?" she asked, a deceptively simple question with room for a follow-up.

"I don't know what to think," he answered, still avoiding her gaze.

"Nobody does. If we were supposed to think alike, we would." She tucked the notepad off to her side. "We're supposed to come to our own conclusions, and compare them with others. It's the only real way we can get to the truth."

"You really believe that?"

Irene didn't hesitate. "I do. So much of the war is still a mystery for people: the who, the why, the how. They might never really know everything that happened, but they deserve to, and I'm coming to realize truth is more than just what one person saw."

She almost didn't notice when Lloyd finally looked back at her. "I saw many amazing things with the militia," she added. A small smile sneaked onto her lips, though it vanished just as quickly. "Some, I wouldn't have believed if I hadn't seen them personally. My country is tearing itself in half, all because some people saw things differently. I keep thinking, what if I hadn't been there? What if Welkin turned me down, and I had to wait until it was all over but the shouting? Who would I believe? _What_ would I believe?"

Pressing her fingers together, she could tell she had the young patient's full attention. Even she was caught off guard by her words, expressing doubts she had rarely spoken aloud. "'The Writing on the Wall' was what happened. I'm hoping 'On the Gallian Front' can be the truth. For a lot of people, that's the only thing we can do for them. That's why I need your help, and I think it may just help you, too."

Lloyd sat silently, and his eyes closed as Irene finished. His hands gathered up bunches of the blanket beneath him, squeezing the material as he pulled in a long, deep breath. Behind him, the window rattled a bit as a bolt of lightning touched down somewhere close by.

He sat there in contemplation for a full minute before speaking. "The book," he whispered, so faintly that she almost didn't hear it. "On the counter. They said they found it on me."

_Bingo_, she thought triumphantly and rose from her chair. She reached over and pushed the broken pen off the book, and it clattered uselessly on the counter.

"The last page," he said, a distinct rasp to his voice. "The letters are traced repeatedly, like I was writing it over and over."

She glanced at him as she flipped through the pages. "You were writing in this?"

"It's my handwriting. Or at least, it matches what it looks like now."

Irene soon saw what he meant: an entire page devoted to a single sentence, an old proverb repeated countless times throughout history. As he had said, the letters were deeply imprinted into the page, no doubt from a pen scribbling back and forth for each thick line.

_The root of all evil._

"You know what it means, don't you?" he asked, the question purely rhetorical.

Shock mixed with excitement in her mind, pieces of the puzzle falling squarely into place. The phrase was the first real confirmation of what Irene had been told, and it caused goosebumps to start crawling up her arms. "Greed," she said simply, turning towards Lloyd and tapping the book for emphasis. "It was all about greed."

"I asked the doctor about it, but he didn't know what to make of it. The army guy just shrugged and told me not to worry."

She nodded slowly, setting the book back on the counter. Her attention drifted to the package, her curiosity now thoroughly piqued. _I'll be damned. It's true, isn't it? Every word of it's true._

He leaned forward onto his elbows, fully awake and brimming with questions. "So what was down there?"

"First thing's first," replied Irene, feeling confident enough to drag her chair closer to the bed. "You need to know how you got there, how it all fell apart."

Lloyd nodded. "All right. Where were we, then?"


	9. I Never Got Used to It

**Things Left Behind**

A Valkyria Chronicles fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun

_Notes: The real challenge of writing is often just making decisions: who lives and how happily, who dies and how suddenly, and so on. Stories are organic in that sense, changing on you even when you think you have the next step planned out. Small wonder I've slowed down at the midpoint, where making and justifying decisions becomes important. While I won't make promises about turnaround time, I can say that major decisions about where this is going have finally been set and I'm making progress at a faster pace. In the meantime, thank you all for putting up with me thus far._

_Mechanically speaking, this is chapter is another chance to round out the characters a bit while the second leg of the plot kicks in. Some, to be sure, have a bit more to talk about, but I'm hoping to keep a balanced focus across the participants. As I've said, it's tricky when all you really have are bullet points and battle quips to go on, but I like the idea that even seemingly shallow characters have other sides to them in the right circumstances. _

_Lastly, while this is not really a pairing fic, if you ask yourself "Is that jealousy I see being vaguely implied?" The answer is yes. Yes it is._

* * *

><p><strong>I Never Got Used to It<strong>

Mission time: +2:40 hours, 01:36

* * *

><p><em>"While Naggiar remained a pivotal battle that cost Gallia dearly, the militia scouts and their Federation allies denied the Empire a key angle of attack at Rhodall. In spite of Gallia's official stance, anonymous officers later conceded that not only were the commandos present, but they had bought the army precious time to prepare. Gallia had at least been given a fighting chance.<em>

_What followed is the main source of debate, in part because the scouts testified to being separated at one point. This made some of their more dubious claims difficult to verify, and the army dismissed several statements outright. As with the Randgriz incident, independent investigations were stifled, the matter deemed unimportant in the wake of the Imperial invasion._

_To judge by the army presence afterward, someone felt otherwise."_

_- Irene Koller, "On the Gallian Front"_

* * *

><p>Thick clouds of dust and smoke settled over the square, parting only slightly before the night's gentle breeze. Ruined tanks and APCs were still ablaze, cloaked in the pungent aroma of spent gunpowder and burning ragnite. Beneath them, the pitted, scarred streets were dotted further by shadowy lumps that had been human bodies: mostly Imperial soldiers, some of them less than intact, a few still twitching helplessly.<p>

Alex pinched his nose, barely containing a sneeze as he followed Juno into the open. He kept his squinted eyes forward, having learned not to linger on their handiwork. Poor impulse control often made him anxious to take off and join the fight, but when the adrenaline rush ended he was never truly comfortable with the results. He caught a glimpse of one of the soldiers' faces, and tried not to notice that the body looked his age.

Somewhere beyond the smoke, he could hear commandos shouting as they clustered around the remains of Lulubell. Someone on the radio had seen survivors climbing out, and Alex could only hope no one had been seriously hurt. Chatter ahead drew his attention to their destination, where one tall, dark figure was addressing another.

"Sorry it took so long, sir," said one of them, a young male commando still wearing his mask. "The Imperials put up a real fight on that hill."

Alex recognized the other as Ballard. "You got here in the nick of time. We were about to start throwing rocks at them."

"And these would be the Gallians you told us about?"

Juno, approaching the two of them, greeted the newcomer with a salute. "That would be us. PFC Juno Coren, well met."

The masked soldier returned the salute. "Corporal Parker. Thanks for the assist, ma'am."

"What's the situation, corporal?" asked Ballard.

"Past bad, sir. We lost a good three quarters of our unit on that damn artillery rearguard, including our officers. They had to have been ready for us. Took a few more losses on the way here, we're down to maybe twenty people. There may be survivors, but we haven't had time to look."

"What about the Imperials? Did any get by you?"

Alex lent only one ear to the conversation, keeping the other open for sounds of danger. He jumped a bit as gunfire and flashes cut through the haze; someone finishing off a dying trooper. Training alone kept his finger off the trigger, a product of his drill sergeant favoring aggressive reminders about discipline.

His hand throbbed from the memory. For a man solidly in his forties, Rodriguez still had an iron grip.

"A handful, sir. Maybe five or six, they were out of range by the time we bottled up the approaches. Looked like they were fleeing."

The captain nodded. "Understood. Think we've broken their ranks, though there aren't many of us left either."

A strangled scream pierced the air, startling them all. Following the source, Juno could just see two soldiers carrying a writhing third away. "Get her inside, she's hurt bad!" shouted one.

"Sounded like Ellie," said Ballard, his face grim. "We're not out of this yet, we need to sort this mess out fast. Parker, Miss Coren, gather up your units and regroup in the town hall. We're meeting in the conference room in ten. If you'll excuse me."

"Yes sir," said Juno, unsettled by the lancer's cry of pain. "C'mon Alex, let's get inside."

Alex followed closely, eager to leave the miasma behind. He heard the Federation commandos break away, and he waited until he felt far enough to speak freely. "So what do we do now? Job's done, right? We signal for pickup and get out of here?"

The scout cast an eye skyward to the clock tower. "I doubt the driver would see the flare above all this. From up there, maybe. The driver might've radioed already, but we can't assume that. Of course, we would still have to get to him..."

"That should be a cakewalk after all this," Alex remarked. He then jumped as his foot kicked something that felt like a limp, lifeless arm.

Juno didn't notice the shocktrooper's sharp gasp. "I sure hope so. If only we knew the right frequency, we could just use one of their radios."

"That'll go over well," he said, still shaking off the jitters from the arm. "'Hey, everybody, those guys who tried to kidnap the princess are back, but they're good guys now! We think so, we're not really sure what's going on.' Man, this was supposed to be quick and easy."

"Think of it this way, you're getting the action you were hoping for on the ride in," she shot back.

He kicked himself for walking into that one. "Sure, you have to bring _that_ up again..."

The scout chuckled haltingly, an uncomfortable thing that halfway up had remembered the carnage around them. Juno put more effort into her stride, picking up the pace towards the town hall's shattered main entrance. In the back of her mind, she knew this was just a prelude for what awaited them back at Naggiar.

_Assuming we live that long_, she thought glumly. Any previous pride at her plan's success was long gone, in its place the realization she might need another one.

Alex was close enough to hear the heavy sigh. "You okay, Juno?"

"It's never easy, is it?" she asked aloud, wondering if Alex had another quotable at hand.

Not from anyone famous, at least. "Don't think it'd be leadership if anybody could do it."

"Right... leadership."

The word tumbled weakly from her lips, and Alex had a hunch what thoughts were going through her drooping head. "Hey, c'mon. We won, right?" he urged, trying to cheer her up. "I know we've got a mess ahead of us, but it was your plan that got us through this. Don't forget that, okay?"

"I'm trying not to," she said, sounding uncertain. "I'm just..."

"Wondering what Welkin would do?" he guessed.

To his surprise, the guess was off the mark. Her head rose again and shook gently. "Wondering what _we're_ going to do."

* * *

><p>Freesia had to stop herself from touching the bandaged wound, a grazing hit to the waist that healed quickly under ragnaid. The urge to scratch nagged persistently at her as she leaned against the wall.<p>

Through the doorway she could hear the bustle of shorthanded medics tending to wounded soldiers, as the town hall's press room had been hastily converted to a triage center. Her legs ached from the hasty scramble to the tank; the blast, now almost half an hour old, still rang in her ears. Self-consciousness had crept into the periphery of her thoughts, and she was privately grateful she hadn't needed to do more than pull her shirt up a few inches. Even her eyes now worked against her, eyelids sagging from the long night's toll.

She had opted to wait in the hallway while one of the medics tended to Preston, unsure what to do in the meantime. Everyone else was absent or busy, and she didn't know where her fellow recon teammates were. A passing soldier had given the orders "everyone in the town hall, ASAP" and now she could do little but wait for word from Juno.

_Glad I'm not the one handling this_, she thought, convinced that she'd been put under enough pressure for the night. Again she clenched her left hand, digging her fingernails into her palm. _Least that tank wasn't so high off the ground. And no Valkyria, that's doing a little better._

"Heya, York."

Preston's greeting took her out of her thoughts, and she turned as he pulled himself through the doorway. Although his injured leg dragged a bit, he appeared little worse for wear. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Oh, just dandy," he said dryly. "Got me full of painkillers, so now I can focus on my crippling emotional problems."

A forced quip, but his tone got a smile out of her and she played along. "Oh, you got those too?"

"Nothing coffee can't fix." He grimaced and bent over slightly, giving his thigh a squeeze. "Nah, I'm good. A little numb, but good. Just... don't ask me to get up and dance or anything."

"Freesia! There you are!"

Oscar's voice interrupted her reply as he ran up to them. "Nice work with the tank, thought we were done for there!" he said breathlessly.

She smiled, though discomfort remained from being put on the spot. It hardly crossed her mind that she had put herself there. "Ah, it was nothing," she deflected the praise. "Nice shooting, you did good up there."

"Nothing?" He blinked, dubious. "I mean, first that big tank at Barious, and now this..."

Eager to change the subject, Freesia anxiously bobbed her head to one side. "Seriously, it was nothing. Anyway, what's the word from Juno and the others?"

"Oh right, right. Yeah, the officers called a meeting, I guess they're working out what comes next. Juno wants us all there, it's in that conference room. And Preston, your captain was looking for you and Kiril. Is he okay?"

Preston thumbed back to the doorway. "Yeah, got a bit rattled from the tank, but he's all right. He's in there, checking up on Ellie. I'll go tell him."

Unexpectedly, Oscar snaked past the two and headed inside. "It's all right, I got it. Go on ahead, I'll catch up."

The young commando glanced curiously at Freesia, who bore a similarly puzzled look. "Oh... 'kay then. Well, let's go see what's up," he said, starting down the hallway.

"Thought Oscar hated the sight of blood," the dancer wondered as she followed Preston.

The two walked in silence, accented by far-off sounds of boots running and indistinct talking. Left again with her thoughts, she replayed the event in her mind: climbing the tank, Oscar sniping the crewman, the primed grenade, getting shot as she ran back. The parallels were too easy, and she found herself mentally back at Barious; back to the scared, sparsely-trained conscript she sometimes felt like.

Once more, the confident, carefree-yet-disciplined dancer was nowhere to be found.

She shook her head briskly, trying to chase the memories away. _I'm getting tired_, she thought, again feeling the pull on her eyelids. The soft glow of an emergency light presented an option, letting her see the restroom sign up ahead. All of a sudden she realized how grimy she felt, with smoke and dust and who knows what else clinging to exposed skin.

"Mind if we stop for a second?" she asked, indicating the door. "I just need to wash my face."

"Go ahead, I'll wait here," he nodded.

Freesia pushed through and fumbled for a light switch, causing ugly green wallpaper to appear around her; a mere closet of a bathroom, thankfully kept clean before the building had been evacuated. She zeroed in on the sink and didn't bother closing the door behind her.

"Been meaning to ask, how's the war going on your end?" Preston asked through the doorway.

The dancer gazed into the mirror as she turned on the tap, seeing a dirty, disheveled young woman staring back at her. She ran her hands through the icy water and splashed it against her face, washing fatigue away with the grime. Even as the chill woke her up, a different kind of exhaustion clung tenaciously, one borne of being pulled well outside her comfort zone.

"Long night," she sighed, indulging further in vanity and straightening out her hair before answering. "We've had some wins, but I don't have a good handle on the big picture. Mostly I just follow orders and hope everyone else knows what they're doing."

"I hear that. We don't get much news these days, but it sounds like your LT's a good guy."

"He's... different, I'll give him that," she answered, stopping herself from tacking on 'handsome'. There was growing suspicion amongst the squad that he had become spoken for. "Quirky, but nice. Juno could talk your ear off about him. This battle coming up... to be honest, I don't know what to think, but he hasn't let us down yet."

"Knock on wood, right?" A popping sound, a button being released.

Freesia squeezed and rubbed her shoulder, working out a stubborn knot in the muscle. She briefly wished Salinas was in earshot. Apart from having strong hands, he never needed much convincing to lend one or two to help, provided there weren't any tanks to distract him.

Pages being turned; the shocktrooper was flipping through his book again. "Hey, you were an athlete or something before the war, weren't you? If you don't mind me asking."

_Here it comes, there's one in every unit._ She'd been wondering which of their men would turn out to be the flirt, opening with some variant of the same, seemingly innocuous question. "I'm a dancer, actually. I'm hoping to get back to it when this is all over."

"Ah. Yeah, I can see that."

"I have the figure for it, you mean," she quickly replied, throwing a sly look over her shoulder, half expecting to find him poking his head through the door.

She found no such thing, and his answer was even less expected. "More your balance," he said from the hallway. "You got on in one good jump, and you stayed on when it took off. Not easy, and scouts usually don't get a lot of practice at it. "

One of her eyebrows crooked upward. "I see," she whispered, almost disappointed he hadn't gone for the obvious compliment.

A flip of the page. "Just curious, didn't mean to pry."

"It's all right," said Freesia, wiping her hands dry on a nearby towel. She hit the switch and rejoined him in the hallway, her own curiosity piqued. There was something strange about the shocktrooper that she just couldn't place. The term 'special forces' had conjured up an image of someone far less...

He looked up at her and snapped his book shut as she exited the bathroom. "Ready?"

"Yeah, let's go." _Normal. That's the word. He seems way too normal for this stuff._

They hadn't gotten more than a few feet before she asked, "What about you, Mr. Special Forces? What are you when you're not, y'know, doing what it is you guys do?"

Preston slid the book back into a pocket, an odd little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Forgetful."

* * *

><p>Oscar stared from the doorway into the well-lit press room, averting his eyes from anything red. Rows of chairs served as beds and operating tables, though most of the injured were healthy enough to sit normally. Despite the carnage littering the square outside, the commandos had suffered few casualties defending it, making things easier for the two medics scurrying about. Few complained openly, save for a pair of bickering voices from the back of the room.<p>

While tame compared to militia MASH units he'd visited - and been in - the scene still unsettled the squeamish sniper. He cringed and looked away when a medic forcefully set a broken bone. _How is that guy not screaming in pain? I could hear it from over here!_

Spying a familiar face, Oscar picked through the scattered chairs and made his way towards the far side of the room, where Kiril was tending to his scarlet-haired colleague. Hushed words grew louder as he approached, and he kept a distance until he was certain the conversation wasn't private.

"You can... stop fussing over me," said Ellie, her voice a raspy croak.

Kiril chuckled quietly as he handed her a canteen. "I can, but I'm not going to. It's in my nature."

Though spared from a direct hit, the lancer looked worse off than most of her colleagues. Bandages covered her right eye and a large part of her head, with ugly burns dotting her face and neck. The blast shielding had been cut free, pooled at her feet and badly dented from the force of the explosion. Her weapon arm had taken the rest of the damage, the singed sleeve of her uniform rolled up to reveal punctures and fragment scars along the forearm. Ragnaid had closed and sterilized the life-threatening injuries, but she wasn't going to be taking on tanks anytime soon.

Oscar took tentative steps towards the two of them, wary of drawing too much attention. He hadn't forgotten the shouting match from earlier, but now was no time to pick up where they had left off. When she at last rolled her head to look up at him, it took some effort not to flinch.

"How are you doing?" he asked to break the ice.

She smacked her lips as they parted from the canteen. "Had better days," she answered hoarsely.

"Doc said the scarring shouldn't be permanent," said Kiril, glancing up at Oscar. "She's lucky, believe it or not. The sniper hit Pershing, the other lancer, and he fired point-blank into a chunk of rubble. Poor guy took the worst of it."

Oscar shivered. He didn't need help imagining what a sniper bullet, or a lancer shell, could do to a person. "I'm sorry."

Ellie coughed, the act obviously uncomfortable for her. "Don't... heh... don't be. I'll be all right, and we stopped them. That's what counts."

Kiril took the canteen back and poured some of the water onto a small cloth. "Eleanor Jordan Salvatore," he said softly as he began dabbing her face with the cloth, cleaning off smudges of dirt and blood. "What are we going to do with you, hmm? Why does everything I care about have to get blown up?"

"Just don't start singing," she croaked, rolling her eyes at his ministrations. "You can't hit the low notes."

The sniper relaxed a bit, feeling the mood lighten between the three of them. Ellie wasn't the sunniest woman he'd ever met, but he was still relieved that she would, in time, be okay.

"Oscar?"

He noticed her staring up at him, and it bothered him less this time. "Yeah?"

Her one hazel eye looked at Kiril for a moment, then back to Oscar. The words about to emerge would not do so easily. "I... um, I don't really know how to say this..."

He could guess where she was going. "It's all right," Oscar reassured her. "You don't have to."

"Yeah I do." She paused to cough again, shuddering from the effort. "Hrm. What's the word for it... when you said something you meant, but... didn't mean it like that?"

Kiril patted her lightly on the shoulder. "It's 'sorry,' Ell. It's hard, but it's not complicated."

Her head rolled from side to side. A close observer might have seen a faint shimmer in her eye. "When I... when I yelled at you, I believed what I said. That hasn't changed, it's just... I had no right to take it out on you. Your team... you're good people. Heh... even princess and hothead. So, yeah... I'm sorry."

Oscar smiled slightly, pleased. He knew he had a bit of a temper himself, but he never was one to hold grudges. "Well, I was wrong about you, too," he said, feeling the need to meet her halfway. "Let's call it even, okay?"

The corner of her lip curled upward, the closest thing to a smile she'd managed all night. "You got it."

A low, amused laugh came from the engineer, prompting a stern look from Ellie. "There now, doesn't that feel better?" he joked.

The lancer groaned deeply, pushing her head further into her pillow. "Yeah, thanks mom."

"Don't mention it." Kiril looked up at Oscar. "So what's the word? Any news from the important people?"

"Yeah, they're having a meeting to figure out what to do next. If you're feeling up to it, Ballard wants you there."

The engineer stood up and stretched, then answered the sniper with a nod. "No time like the present. Ell, I'll be back in a bit, okay?"

"Keep me up to speed, I know this isn't over yet," she said, her injured arm coming to rest over her stomach. Oscar saw another cloth gripped tightly in her fist; an old, tattered white scarf with distinct patterns on the border.

"You got it. Let's go, Oscar."

Kiril took the lead, guiding them away from the press room. As soon as they passed through the door, Oscar looked over at the Darcsen commando. "That scarf she was holding, wasn't it..." he began.

"Just an old good luck charm," Kiril quietly answered, his playful demeanor fading away.

"I see."

Taking a long, deep breath, the engineer glanced back at the doorway. "I didn't forget everything, you know."

Even Oscar couldn't miss the signals. He'd seen them often enough in Squad 7. "She knows how you feel?" he asked; a called shot in the dark, but the odds favored him.

Bullseye. "I sure hope so," sighed the engineer.

They walked quietly for a good minute or so, following arrows to the meeting room, before Kiril spoke again. "How 'bout you, man? Anybody waiting for you after all this?"

Oscar nearly stumbled as he tried to come up with a diplomatic answer. "Only women who scare me," he finally muttered.

The engineer nodded in sympathy. "You get used to it."

* * *

><p>Introductions went back and forth with firm handshakes, everyone forgetting for the moment that they weren't all on the same side. For her part, Juno greeted their uninvited guests cordially, if only to smooth things over in advance of the million-ducat question: "What now?" Sure enough, when Ballard posed it, the friendly banter came to a screeching halt and the tension in the room rose tangibly. As if by design, the Gallians and the commandos wound up on opposite sides of the conference table.<p>

"We've got a real mess on our hands, and I don't mean the one we just left outside," said the captain, palms flat on the table. "Let's assume we'd all prefer to settle this like adults, with no further misunderstandings."

Murmurs agreement; no one was in a hurry to start another fight. Juno felt a bit of pride at being included with the 'adults,' as she was all too aware of their differences in age and rank. "It's a little late to refuse the help," she said. "I won't pretend I'm comfortable with how this all happened, but we wouldn't have survived without you and your people, Captain. We might not even have known about the Imperials until it was too late. Who knows what'll happen once we report back, but I see no reason we can't part in peace today."

Ballard nodded, giving a barely visible smile. "Your team fought well, and it was your plan that stopped the Imperials, Miss Coren. Regardless of what comes next, it was an honor to work with you."

The praise was simple, but sincere, and it caught Juno off guard. Despite herself she felt a hint of embarrassment, which seeped into her reply. "S-Sure. Likewise, Captain. Thank you."

Alex noticed the brief stutter, amused at the thought of Juno getting flustered over a compliment, especially from someone besides Welkin. Another feeling sneaked in with the amusement, a nagging curiosity as to why she hadn't reacted that way when he said the same thing. _Eh, it probably means more coming from an officer,_ he thought, mulling it over for a second before wondering why he even cared.

Garity placed her hands on the map. "The way I see it, we both achieved our objectives. The real question is what do we do now? Whatever they're after, we can't assume the Imperials will give up."

"True enough," said Ballard. "We've all done our parts, and then some. Our priorities are now evacuating while we still can, and alerting Gallia to the Imperial presence."

Juno tapped the image of the town hall. "There is one thing we can do right now. This building houses the phone switchboard, which doesn't help us because the Empire has destroyed phone lines and radio masts where they can. But there's also a wireless telegraph, an older system that hasn't been phased out yet. If we can get it working, we can alert our forces at Naggiar. The army won't be able to garrison the area for days, but there's enough time before the battle to scramble an engineering team."

"You're talking sabotage," said Alex, catching up with the plan.

"Exactly. Destroy a few key buildings and the town is that much harder to hold. They can even collapse that warehouse right on top of the vault entrance. It's not ideal, but it buys us time."

Ballard nodded approvingly. "I think that's the best we can manage at this point. As for us, our official objectives are over. We need to get our wounded out of here before Gallian back-up arrives, and also try and find major Dawes."

"What about our casualties, sir?" asked Garity, wiping the sweat of her brow. Strands of blonde hair had snuck out from her balaclava, sticking to her forehead. "We can't just leave them here."

Preston shifted weight off his injured leg. "We don't really have a choice, there aren't enough hands left for that."

"We knew it might come to this, Trish," said Ballard. "Bad as things are, it gets worse if they catch one of us alive. There'll be time to collect our comrades later."

With no other protest, the captain withdrew a pencil and marked an open field on the southeastern outskirts. "Our original rally point is blocked. Secondary is here, grid kilo-twelve. The majority of Foxtrot will relocate with the wounded and hold up for survivors. Some may be there already, so we'll need to prepare for more injured."

"We should check out that vault while we're nearby, sir," added Garity, gesturing to the warehouse. "The Empire seemed to think it was important enough to spare."

Ballard and Juno shared an uneasy glance. "We may not have time for that," he cautioned. "Ideally, we would leave that to Gallia. I think we've done enough trespassing today."

Juno swallowed, feeling the weight of responsibility. This definitely wasn't her call, but she also had no real way of enforcing it beyond asking nicely. Brief internal deliberation produced a clumsy, imperfect solution. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to take a look. If the Empire was here before you, it might be wise to make sure they haven't set up there, too."

Surprised, but content with the answer, Ballard faced his lieutenant. "Fair enough. Trish, you and corporal Parker are responsible for securing the extraction point. Investigate if you have time and can spare the men, but job one is getting our people out of here."

"Understood, sir."

"I mean it," he added forcefully. "Take only notes, leave only footprints. We don't want to make things any worse."

The words put Juno at ease. Whatever her qualms about the Federation, she was glad that at least one of their officers knew how to tread lightly.

"What about the major?" Preston asked. "You said he was near the hospital?"

"Last we heard, so that's where we start. You and the rest of Bravo - minus Kiril - are with me on that. No telling what we'll find in there, so be ready for anything."

At his name, the engineer joined in. "What do you need from me, boss?"

The captain motioned to Juno's team. "This building took some damage, Miss Coren may need help getting that telegraph up and running. I want you and a couple of Parker's men to stay here until they get the word out. Once it is, we officially part ways."

"Technically, this is our backup plan," Juno clarified. "We've got an APC waiting for us, or at least we had one. We were to send up flares from the tower if it was clear, regroup at a distance if it wasn't. We'll signal anyway, but after all this any number of things could have happened to him."

Ballard pushed himself away from the table, glancing at the assembled soldiers. "And could still happen. You saw what the Empire threw at us. We've already lost a lot of good people tonight, and we're not out of the woods yet. Is everyone clear on what's needed?"

Several "Yes, sir!"s shot through the room. Satisfied, the captain turned back to Juno. "Let's turn this into a win, people. Dismissed!"


	10. Ethics

**Things Left Behind**

A Valkyria Chronicles fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun

_Notes: So, who else out there survived the freak storm and subsequent power outage of the decade? Gale-force winds, power lines down, trees blown out by the root - all bookended by a record-setting heat wave. I don't even have words for how friggin' weird this past week has been. Suffice to say I hope everyone in its path got through it okay._

_To the fanfic. The actual mystery part is the element I struggled with the most. As mentioned in the prologue, this has less to do with the game events, which are thoroughly explored, and more about the broader setting, where one can be a bit more creative. That said, I was leery of spinning it too far from solid ground, as keeping it contained makes it fit neater alongside canon. One can make a good story that steps out from the original's shadow, but I'd rather keep it focused for my first go at the series._

_Also, browser-based card game? Man, Sega, you're breaking my heart here._

* * *

><p><strong>Ethics<strong>

Mission time: +3:02 hours, 02:00

* * *

><p><em>Message sent: I repeat, Base One, this is Groundhog, breaking radio silence on a code-zero, over! Damn it, somebody pick up!<em>

_Message received: This is Base One. Verify your identity, authentication Belgen, over._

_Message sent: Finally! What took you so long? I authenticate Theimer, over!_

_Message received: Verification acknowledged. What's your status, Groundhog? Over._

_Message sent: Sir, Sierra has Hoteled the Foxtrot! The town has been hit by multiple artillery strikes and Imperials have poured into the area in the last hour. I have audio confirmation of at least one other party, and gunfire has just picked up again around the town hall! No sign of the recon team, over!_

_Message received: Say again, Groundhog. The Imperials are attacking the town? Who are they fighting? Over._

_Message sent: How should I know? There wasn't supposed to be anybody here! Extraction point is not safe, and I don't even know if there's anybody left to extract! Please advise, over!_

_Message received: Understood. Charlie company is being diverted to your location, ETA one hour. Retreat to a safe distance and hold for further instructions, over._

_Message sent: Wait, the army has reinforcements out here? I thought everyone was-_

_Message received: Retreat and hold, Groundhog. The general will handle this. Base One, out._

_- Logged radio transmission, timestamped 01:14 hours_

* * *

><p>"Button it up, ladies! We are pulling out!"<p>

Juno watched the commando slam the truck bed shut, backed by a wave of acknowledgments and cries of "Raooh!" Throughout the ruined square, Foxtrot's vehicles came to life: transports, APCs, even a technical bearing the seal of the town militia. Soon enough, the few dozen soldiers had squeezed themselves into whatever space they could find, and the Federation remnants began to drive off.

"I have to say, I didn't expect you'd agree to let Trish search the vault," said Ballard, waving to the trucks as they departed.

She wrinkled her nose, the smell of battle still heavy around the square. "Frankly, I kind of hope it's a secret. If the Empire had this many men to spare for a flanking maneuver..."

"Then they've got no shortage of bodies to throw into the meat grinder," he finished, frowning. "Meanwhile, we have trouble just getting supplies to our own front."

One of the last trucks rolled out of the square, a crudely drawn skull-and-crossbones on its side. Juno swallowed uncomfortably, having seen the commandos loading what few bodies they could recover onto it.

A tinge of guilt set in. Sacrifice felt easy when it was someone else's to make. "I'm sorry about your men, captain."

"It can't be helped now. We've had our... differences." His voice wavered a bit, but the captain was otherwise as taciturn as ever. "Things that sorry doesn't quite cover. But if it helps us both hold, then it wasn't for nothing."

The sky lit up with red above the town hall, a flare jetting up from the clock tower and bursting high; the militia 'all clear' signal, albeit in a different context than was intended. From the ground, they could just barely see the shooter's outline as it waved down to them and disappeared back inside.

Shielding his eyes from the light, Ballard looked back at Juno. "I should mention our intelligence has been watching this whole thing closely. They don't usually share information unless it's actionable, but it's got our spooks nervous and working overtime. Whatever the Empire wants from you, they want it bad, and I don't think it's your resources."

"It's a shame there's no time to compare notes," she said, the regret genuine. Scout training had hammered into her the importance of many pairs of eyes on the battlefield. "It's big enough for the prince's top generals to show up, let alone the prince himself. Everything else, Welkin and the other officers keep behind closed doors."

A loud thud followed a jeep as it bounced over a pothole, the militia vehicle coming to a stop not far from Ballard and Juno. The engine died and Preston hopped out of the driver's seat, keys jingling in his hand. Alex was right behind him, fanning himself to disperse the smoky stench of the square.

"Purring like a kitten," said Preston as he approached, lightly tossing the keys to Juno. "Should get you guys outta here in no time. "

She caught the keys with a smile. "Thanks, that beats walking back."

"Too right. Captain, Bravo's just about packed up, they're waiting for us on the east side. Parker's men are waiting for Kiril on the south end, they got a civvie car running."

"Then let's not keep them." Ballard nodded to Juno. "It's been an honor. Don't hide anything for our sake, tell your officers everything you can. And best of luck."

Offering a firm salute, she answered, "Likewise, Captain. We won't forget this."

The two commandos returned it, then headed off towards a distant pair of shining headlights. "There they go," Alex said, watching as they faded to silhouettes in the night. "Think it's time we got going ourselves."

"I couldn't agree more."

Together, the two ventured back to the hall, wary of the crumbling door frame and shattered glass. With the commandos gone, the old building fell back into its eerie silence, with only the wind and their scraping footsteps to be heard. Alex heard a hollow jingle as he bumped a few spent shell casings, one of them rolling to a stop by a mounted .50cal machine gun.

"All right, where do we find the switchboard?" he asked.

Taking the fore, Juno led them down the hall away from the empty foyer. "It's not far, I told the others to meet us there."

"Have you thought about what we're going to tell command? I mean, where do we even start?"

The scout drew in a deep breath, tasting the comparatively fresh air and letting it out slowly. Against her will, her heart began to pound faster, racing in time with her thoughts. _With the truth? What is the truth here? The Imperials came, the Federation came, they fought and we took sides... but for what? Why send so much for just one town? That can't possibly be the end of it._

She could imagine Varrot's sharp tone, lecturing about this protocol and that, saying what should have been done instead. Disbelief seemed likely, given the squad had fought those commandos mere months ago. Welkin would surely support his troops - she entertained a mental glimpse of him bravely leaping to their defense, to _her_ defense - but she wondered whether anyone above the captain would listen.

_They never did before, but that's no reason not to try._ "You heard their captain. We'll start with what we saw and go from there."

"Hmph. That's better than my plan."

"Oh? What did you have in mind?"

"Fake amnesia, say it was your idea, then make a run for it," said Alex, as straight as he could manage. The shocktrooper wasn't quite able to keep from smirking at his own joke.

Juno broke into a soft laugh, having difficulty picturing Alex running from trouble for a change. "Our hero," she replied flatly. "Guess we'll need someone else to make the rest of us look sane."

"Maybe not in that order, but the second the guard looked away, just 'shooom,' off like that." He slapped his hands together, shooting one away to illustrate. "No heroics from this bird, no sir. Go ask Freesia, I hear she's getting good at crazy stunts."

Their laughter echoed through the hallway, the noise carrying far enough for someone to hear and shout back. "Hey, Juno! Is that you?" called Freesia's voice from a doorway just ahead of them.

"That's our stop," said Juno, indicating the sign that read 'Switchboard.' "Yeah, we're coming!"

Wires gleamed in the emergency light from the hallway, revealing connectors plugged into a neglected switchboard. Like everything else in town, the phone substation looked as if abandoned in a hurry: a coat slung over a chair, half-spent cigarettes dropped in ashtrays, a note stopped in midsentence on the supervisor's desk. Darkness cloaked most of the room, with only a tiny yellow bulb, glowing dimly on a panel, to suggest the equipment was functional.

To her relief, Freesia and Kiril had brought a lantern with them, which sat on a desk near the back and helpfully lit up the device they sought. The dancer waved them over as they entered, while Kiril busied himself with the aging, unpowered telegraph.

"My mom works in one of these back home," Alex remarked, thumbing one of the dusty cables. "Too bad the lines are down, we could probably figure out how to call her."

"That'd be fun," said Freesia from across the room. "'Hey mom! You'll never guess where I'm calling from!'"

Alex chuckled and worked his way over to the desk. "Heh, yeah. 'Need a big favor, ma. Can you call the army and tell them to send, I dunno, _all of it_ this way? Great, thanks!'"

"It'd probably take longer to get the call, knowing the army," Juno said, only half kidding. "How's it look?"

Humming to himself, Kiril pulled his head from the device long enough to answer. "Something's breaking the power circuit but other than that she's looking good. They must've kept it maintained regularly, some of these parts look pretty new."

"All right. Everyone spread out and look for a code sheet, we need it to send the message."

The three quickly searched the room, checking shelves and rifling through desk drawers. Floorboards creaked underfoot, the noise piercing the stillness of the building. Alex waved his hand in front of his face as he went through discarded papers, scattering dust bunnies and trying not to breathe too deeply.

"Gonna love the after-action report on this one," Kiril grumbled as he tested the controls. "Although amazingly, this is not the worst scrap we've been in."

"I find that hard to believe," said Alex, and for once he didn't mean Randgriz.

"'Worst' being a negotiable term these days, but any day we're not pointing fingers or guns at each other is a step in the right direction. Thank you very much, asshole political officer whose name escapes me at the moment."

Wandering over, Alex took note of the none-too-subtle bitterness in Kiril's voice. However, as he cast an eye over the machine, something about it struck him as odd. He folded his arms, intrigued by the lack of dust on it versus the table that carried it. "Any idea what's wrong?" he asked, changing the subject.

The engineer reached in with a pair of pliers and grabbed something. "Yeah, just something in the way of the circuit, I got it. Long as your emitter is intact and there's someone listening, it shouldn't take too long to send a message."

"They'll be listening," Juno said confidently. "The Empire destroyed a lot of radio towers early in the war, so we had to improvise. Those 'stations' are mostly just scouting units with jury-rigged receivers, but they're hard to find and can move quickly. Once it's away, the Naggiar command post should get the message in a matter of minutes."

Pulling open a drawer, Freesia spotted a telltale list of dash-and-dot letter codes. "Ahh, here we go," she said, snatching it up and handing it to Juno.

Kiril pulled back and slapped the casing shut, tightening a few screws. He then reached behind the machine and popped open another section. "That should do it. Lemme just check the ink here... " As he reached inside, however, he then frowned and drew his hand back, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. "What the..."

"What is it?" Juno asked, setting the sheet down. She saw black smudges on his fingertips, like fresh ink.

Taking a closer look, Kiril carefully traced the ribbon housing with his fingers. "When was this town evacuated?"

"A couple months after the war began. Why?"

"Well, I'm no expert, but it looks like someone already changed it out, and recently."

Alex also poked his head around the machine. With the plate open, he could plainly see the almost pristine ink ribbon sitting within. The ink stains and lack of dust connected in his mind, a reminder of something else that had looked askew. "I thought something looked off. There's less dust on it than the rest of the room, like someone was just using it. You didn't brush it off, did you?"

Kiril shook his head. "No, we found it that way."

"Oh yeah, you mentioned that with the vault folder," Freesia said, snapping her fingers. "Everything else was covered in dust, but someone had checked that one too."

Juno's brow furrowed in suspicion. "How recently?"

"Can't say exactly... a day or two? Maybe less?" Alex guessed.

The scout leader rubbed her chin, staring hard at the telegraph. Part of her wanted to ignore this, get back to sending their distress call out, but curiosity won the mental tug-of-war. "Can we get it to repeat the last message?"

The engineer flipped a few switches, causing the machine to grind and tremble as it spun into action. Its tape reel quivered, feeding paper into the printing mechanism as old, but well-inked keys slammed out a mechanical beat. The four of them clustered around the dispenser port, watching anxiously as each word came into view:

_Damon STOP Unit in position with access codes STOP Mayor had prepped contents for transport STOP Imperial advance stalled with heavy casualties STOP Interference from Dawes likely STOP Improvising solution END_

Juno peered down at the text, her eyes narrowing. One little message had put a hard stop to any thoughts of signaling for help. "Damon..."

"Interference... from Dawes?" Kiril read aloud with mounting concern. "They... don't mean our major, do they? Who's Damon? Interfere with what?"

"Damon's one of our generals." Juno couldn't hide the disdain as she added, "Unfortunately."

Alex was more straightforward in his opinion. "He's an arrogant glory hog on a constant power trip. If I didn't know better, I'd swear the Empire planted him just to make our lives miserable."

"Alex..." Juno started with a cautioning stare, letting him fill in the blank.

"Come on, Juno, would it really surprise you to learn that bastard had a finger in this? Everyone knows he's connected, he could be neck deep in this for all we know."

The scout leader could feel her control of the situation slipping away. True, there was no love lost between general Damon and the militia, but that was a far cry from implicating him in their current mess. "We don't even know what 'this' is. Look, it's not that I disagree, but we're missing context. Kiril, is there any way to tell who sent the message, or who they sent it to?"

Kiril grazed the controls with his fingers, searching for anything that might help. "Not that I can see, but if the message was unencrypted, then they weren't too worried about being caught."

"They're using names, too," Freesia pointed out. "They weren't saying 'the Federation' or 'the Army.'"

Growing defensive, Kiril shook his head at the printed text. "I went over the town map in detail. There damn sure wasn't anything in the briefing about this."

Alex began to pace uneasily. Combat was something he could handle, but everything about this was setting off warnings in his head, and he knew he wasn't alone. "Okay, this is getting weird. We should just get that message out and get out of town. Let the cavalry worry about it."

"That still takes time, but you've got a point," said Juno, approaching the desk again. She slid the code sheet in front of Kiril. "Can you send this out? 'Militia recon team, Squad 7, reporting from Rhodall, stop. Enemy contact, battalion strength, stop. Imperials routed with outside help, stop. Require immediate assistance and extraction, end.' Got all that?"

Kiril lifted a pair of headphones off a side hook. "Yeah, I got it," he said, humor quickly disappearing from his eyes. "The major... it just doesn't make any sense."

Juno turned around sharply. "Alex, it's time we find out what we're dealing with. That message mentioned the mayor. I want you to find Oscar and go check the mayor's office. It's another long shot, but he must have known something about this."

"I'm on it," he nodded, breaking his circular pace and heading for the door.

Spinning the nearest chair around, Juno planted herself in it with a low, exhausted groan. She plucked her glasses off her face and rubbed her eyes vigorously, sensing their long night was about to get longer. Not for the first time, she felt almost comically out of her depth; her team led to a narrow victory only to be thrown for another loop over one little message. Questions piled up like a train derailed, each guess of an answer bringing only more weight into the mess.

And behind it all, the creeping, gnawing sensation that people on both sides weren't what they appeared to be; the 'what if' that supposed Alex was right. _Ellet would have a field day with this._

Above the beeping of the transmitter, Freesia's slow, controlled footsteps approached. "You okay?" she asked.

A heavy sigh escaped Juno's lips. "For now. Ask me in a few minutes. How about you, Frees, how are you holding up?"

Freesia never could bluff Juno and didn't bother trying. Her fellow scout was one of the few people who saw right through the smile, to whom it looked as forced as it felt. Since Barious, something had changed inside the dancer. A reborn sense of uncertainty had seeped in, causing tiny, but perceptible cracks in her carefree facade.

An uncertainty she had thought left behind, alongside a shy, awkward little girl with a family-shaped hole in her past.

She cast her gaze towards the door, her bound gunshot wound itching. "Feeling small again."

* * *

><p>"There is something really wrong here."<p>

Alex wasn't sure what Oscar was referring to: the message from the telegraph, or the fact that this door was locked. "Great, thanks for jinxing it," he grumbled, throwing his shoulder into the door again. It rattled noisily, but the lock held. "Hnnh! Here I thought this was gonna be... hrrgh! Perfectly normal!"

Oscar put his own weight into it, though he lacked the strength of his older comrade. Alex had caught him on the way to the switchboard room, and relayed Juno's orders. Signs had pointed the two of them to the mayor's office, at first just another door - albeit a nicer one with a plaque reading "Matthias Johannesen, Mayor" - down a darkened hallway in a building full of them.

Grunting with every impact, Alex slammed the wooden barrier over and over, his arm growing sore from the punishment. "Come on, you stubborn piece of... grah! Come on!"

"Can't we shoot the lock out?" Oscar suggested.

"Nah, that only works in the comics. It feels like it's loosening up a bit though, let's try kicking it on a three count."

Both took a step back. "Did she actually say we could break in?"

"She wasn't specific. Make sure you bring your leg up and then out, you want your heel to land square with the door."

Slightly disturbed by Alex's knowledge of the subject, Oscar lined up and shifted his weight accordingly. "All right, ready when you are."

"One... two... three!"

Shocktrooper and sniper heaved loudly as they kicked the door at once, and at last the lock tore open in a puff of lacquered splinters. The door swung violently inwards as it came to a stop, revealing the office within.

"That was oddly fun," said the sniper, despite his complaining leg.

Alex grinned mischievously as he entered the room and hit the light switch. "Wasn't it though? Let's see what we can find in here."

As befitting a public office, the room was dotted with higher end furniture and government paraphernalia: solid oak tables, bookshelves, leather-backed chairs, a door to a private bathroom, flagpoles flanking the Gallian royal seal. Right away, the office stood out just by looking less ransacked than the rest of town, with the locked door an easy explanation for why. A clutter of papers and old maps lay on the mayor's expensive desk, and the bookshelves were visibly out of order, as if someone had been thumbing through them in haste.

Oscar wrinkled his nose, catching whiff of an odd, unpleasant, yet familiar scent. He couldn't place it, however, and wrote it off as Alex went for the desk, the obvious starting point for their search.

The mere titles of several documents put Alex off, obscure legal documents and contracts referencing things he couldn't even begin to care about. One, however, got his attention, less for content than for the faded but prominent ink smudges along the edge.

"What do we have here?" he mused, scanning the header: _Origins of Gallian Neutrality_. A synopsis of some kind, the date of 12 February, 937 had been circled in pencil, but Alex couldn't make much of it beyond that it referenced the well-known Gallian policy.

"These maps are all of Gallia from centuries ago," Oscar noticed, sifting through them and pointing to small shifts in the southern border - right around the town in which they stood. "It looks like someone was researching the town's past. I think Rhodall wasn't always a part of Gallia."

Alex set the paper back down. "Ah, I never paid that much attention during history class. It was important to someone though, that's for sure."

Leaving the maps, Oscar slowly headed for the window, watching the flicker of distant fires along the skyline. "So, our mystery man digs through vault construction records, sends a message to general Damon, then comes up here to read up on history... and locks the door behind them? That doesn't make any sense."

"You're telling me. I wonder if..." Alex paused, his eyes falling upon the carpet by chance and suddenly freezing there.

"Wonder if what?" Oscar turned around and saw Alex staring at the floor. "What's wrong?"

Neither had noticed the color of the carpeting, a well worn but calming shade of blue. But this did make it easier for Alex to see the small spots of red. Finding one led to more, a nearly invisible trail that disappeared under the desk. One thought led to another. Hard spots on the floor; the desk had been moved.

"Help me pull this thing," he said, grabbing it by one end and motioning to the other.

His limbs sore from the door, Oscar nearly dropped the desk but was able to drag it a few inches with Alex. Beneath where the desk had been placed, a bigger pool of red had splattered on the carpet, like someone had fallen hard on it while bleeding.

"Is that what I think it is?" asked the sniper, suspecting their thoughts were in unison. Out of nowhere he caught that smell again, though he still couldn't pinpoint the location.

Alex heard the sniffing, and he caught a whiff of it too. "I think so. Yeah, you smell that? What is that?"

"This is bad. This is really bad," said Oscar, walking away from the blood. The smell only got stronger, and at last it dawned on him that it was coming from the bathroom. "In there. If that's what I think it is... I mean, we didn't even hear it..."

Alex grabbed his weapon and took position by the bathroom door. It was a pointless gesture, but he hoped it would calm Oscar down. It certainly wasn't helping him. "Let's check it out. You get the handle."

With clear reluctance, the sniper reached out and grabbed the knob. He waited, and dreaded, for Alex to give a confirming nod, and when it came he meekly tugged on the door and immediately backed away.

The light was off, but enough came in from the office to see the body. His head, topped with grey hair and blunt contusions, lay bent at a very unhealthy angle, and a look of shock had frozen on his lifeless, well-aged face.

Heights, fighting, war; Alex didn't scare easy. Given the chance, he'd take to the skies and laugh in the face of danger, taking on all comers and living life to the fullest. He had his introspective moments, but they were few and far between. And thus he wasn't scared by the sight of a dead body, even one wearing the uniform of a Federation commando.

It was the collar pin that did it, a tiny little piece of dark metal shaped into a rank insignia. A Major.

Alex wasn't scared. He was terrified, and the next words out of his mouth were enough to bring Oscar with him.

"We are in serious trouble."


	11. Nowhere to Run

**Things Left Behind**

A Valkyria Chronicles fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun

_Notes: Like any self-respecting strategy game protagonist group, Squad 7 gets thrown into dicey situations like it's a bodily function. Sadly, it's still a mere educated guess how side characters, who are static for the most part, behave under stress. Alex, for instance, is obviously an 'act first, think later if at all' kind of guy, but figuring out *which* action he would take is the kicker._

_In a related story, this chapter contains one of the harder decisions I alluded to earlier. I'd had the motives for each party set, but figuring out who interfered with what and when was very much subject to change. Suffice to say in the first draft, the new "participants" were slightly different and harder to justify. Internal consistency is a harsh mistress like that._

_Oh, and we've been losing power here every time a storm rolls through, that's been a bit of a setback._

* * *

><p><strong>Nowhere to Run<strong>

Mission time: +3:16 hours, 02:14

* * *

><p><em>"While much of Gallia's history is well documented, events prior to her founding remain a hotly debated subject. At some point before the year 1000, scattered fiefdoms began unifying under one banner, presumably installed by the departing Valkyrur centuries prior. Unfortunately, for all that is known, Gallia was a feudal system one moment, and a centralized nation-state the next.<em>

_The recon team was not tasked with any historical fact-finding, but Squad 7 had discovered insights into Gallia's missing past before. What differed with Rhodall was the nature of those insights, suggesting a more complex relationship with Federation territories in the past. The details of this would not emerge for some time, and were only corroborated through independent testimony to be discussed later._

_Likewise, the murder of Major Ethan Dawes, the commandos' OIC, further complicated the already tenuous cooperation between parties. Time would reveal this as more than just a blow to the chain of command."_

_- Irene Koller, "On the Gallian Front" _

* * *

><p>"Holy shit. That's him, all right."<p>

Despite his studies, Oscar had little more than basic first aid training at his command. To his dismay, that still made him the most qualified person in the room to examine the corpse of major Dawes. For a moment, he was morbidly grateful for the lack of typical battlefield injuries. No gunshots, no stab wounds, no burns or explosive concussion; just quick, comparatively clean blunt force trauma to the head.

That gratitude went away soon enough, replaced with queasiness and horror as he neared the body. Unlike the hundreds of dead that now littered the city, Dawes had apparently been murdered in cold blood. That fact alone made the sniper want to start running and not look back.

Next to him, Kiril looked white as a sheet, undoubtedly thinking the same thing. "But how? Who did this? He wasn't even supposed to be here!"

Oscar counted three distinct bruises. "It looks like they took him by surprise. Probably hit the back of his head first, then, uh... the front a couple times to make sure. Maybe a rifle butt?"

Outside the bathroom, Juno leaned over the mayor's desk, her hands buried in the papers that covered it. They had just sent the distress call when Alex had come running, breathless and rambling about a dead Federation officer. Questions, already numerous, only multiplied as they joined Oscar in the mayor's office.

"It had to be recent, that message implied he was still alive," she said, briefly flicking her eyes across the ink-marked page. A few words jumped out at her, including the circled date, but history was the last thing on her mind right now.

Kiril rose to his feet and gave the body some room. They could do nothing for him now, and the stench wasn't getting less pungent. "This doesn't make any sense. His unit was pinned down near the hospital."

"That's what we were told," Alex said just under his breath.

The engineer, close enough to hear, bristled. "What are you suggesting?"

Alex reeled back defensively, gesturing to the body. "Hey, you heard it, right? You see it with your own eyes! It wasn't us and it probably wasn't the Imperials. You know who that leaves left."

Kiril backed down immediately, unable to refute the implication. "Oh, damn it all, this is insane," he groaned, clutching his forehead with both hands. "We are so far beyond screwed."

"You've got to get to your division commander, let them know what happened here," said Juno urgently, wondering if they still had someone left to answer to.

He pushed his fingers through his short, spiky hair, as if trying to brush off the stress of the last few world-changing minutes. "You don't understand, there's nobody else higher up on site. Word is he went straight to the brass with something, nobody knew what. Next thing we know, the colonel assigned him a whole division to stop some Imperial threat we hadn't heard of. Everything else - planning, insertion, extraction - was set up by him."

"That doesn't sound normal. Do you think he knew about the vault?" Freesia asked.

He shook his head, despondent. "It's not normal, and honestly I don't know."

Oscar stepped out of the bathroom and looked expectantly at Juno. "Well, whatever he knew, someone wanted it to stay with him. So what do we do now?"

Alex shrugged his shoulders wearily. "Man, we already called for help. I don't think there's anything else we can do."

"I-I've got to warn the captain," Kiril decided with a telling stammer. "He has to know something about this."

Oscar scratched the back of his neck. "You sure you can trust him? You said it yourself, only the officers knew what was going on. It might've been one of them."

"No, he's right, Ballard was with us." Juno looked at each of her colleagues before settling on the Darcsen. "He was on the radio with the major when we met up, remember? That leaves whoever was here before us. I'm sorry, Kiril, but that's a short list of suspects."

He swallowed hard and gave an answering nod, the worry clear in his eyes. "Yeah... I know."

Something else tugged at Oscar's thoughts, a nagging detail that made the picture worse. "Wouldn't the rest of the squad have known he was here, though?"

"Shit, I don't know. Maybe," Kiril conceded. "But we're not gonna figure it out here. I'll regroup with Parker's men and we'll try to catch up with him at the hospital. I know you guys have your own stuff to worry about."

Juno's arms folded across her chest, thoughts racing to grasp all the 'what-ifs'. "I don't know, I'm not sure we should leave just yet. Help is still a ways off."

"We sure can't stay here," Oscar said, fidgeting nervously. "For all we know, the killer's still in the building."

As suggestions flew back and forth, Freesia's attention drifted towards the door. Feather-soft footsteps reached her ears over the conversation, and for a moment she felt as she did on the approach to town, swearing that she wasn't hearing right. She faced the noise, worried and wondering how something that quiet could sound like it was right outside the room.

She wasn't alone. Alex noticed her turning and locked his eyes on the doorway. Amidst the dim emergency light, he was positive one of the shadows was moving.

"Hey, is someone out there?" he called. _That could be Kiril's friends, but what are they doing?_

The conversation disrupted, everyone else was about to question Alex when an ominous, metallic 'clink' came from beyond the door. Shadows shifted, and a hand briefly lit up as a bright blue glow leapt through the door. Comprehension came slowly to the group, but each of them recognized the all-too-common potato masher shape as it bounced on the carpet.

Juno was first to shout, eyes wide as it landed close enough for all of them. _"Grenade!"_

Alex's response was instinctual, being the closest. His hand shot out and frantically snatched up the primed explosive, mentally stringing together as many expletives as he could think of. Part of him was aghast for even trying; the militia field manual listed this suicidal reflex under a subsection marked 'Don't do this unless you really, really have to.'

Luckily for all, he wasn't much of a reader. The grenade left his hand in a clumsy arc, and he ducked away as its blue trail smoked back towards the door.

It didn't quite get there. The grenade went off with a brief, ear-splitting bang, nearly deafening in the confined space of the office. Flames seared as the force of the blast caught him in mid-dive, flinging him backwards and slamming him hard into the desk. He didn't feel the fragments peppering his arm, lost amidst the many directions in which pain now assaulted him. Nonetheless, his gambit paid off. His head swam, his body ached, and he tasted the copper of blood, but he was alive. His friends, less literally stunned by the explosion, were unharmed.

In an instant, the room lit up with gunfire. Juno didn't wait for the first dark figure to charge the room, her rifle spitting lead in the general direction of the door. By sheer luck it punched a hole in the intruder's chest, followed immediately by one of Freesia's bullets. A barrel poked through the doorway behind the collapsing figure, firing blindly inward and sending everyone scrambling for cover.

Ducking behind the desk, Oscar braced his unwieldy weapon and took aim through the wall, gauging where the second shooter was standing. Bullets from the burst dinged around him, tearing small holes out of the desk and lodging in the back wall. He flinched at the noise but held fast long enough to pull the trigger, putting a round just above the light switch. The barrel fell back from the doorway, its last few gunshots spent uselessly at the ceiling.

Despite the chaos, Kiril recognized the uniforms right away. "Friendly fire!" he shouted, even as he shot back. "What are you all doing! Friendly fire!"

The assault continued, fresh troopers replacing the dead. One took point and charged into the room, submachine gun blazing in an attempt at suppression; an ill-advised attempt, greeted by lethal rifle fire. As bullets flew in both directions, a barely conscious Alex crawled sluggishly towards his dropped gun, not thinking about how his bruised, bleeding arm was supposed to lift it.

Freesia squeezed the trigger until her rifle ejected the clip with a light 'ping.' Rather than reload, she reached for one of her own grenades and fumbled with the cap. "They're not stopping!" she yelled, panic digging in firmly.

"WE ARE ON THE SAME SIDE!" Kiril screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking with disbelief. Still more gunfire, another trooper firing around the corner. Scowling, he gestured quickly to the dancer. "Damn it, flush 'em out!"

A frantic pull and a second's delay; she tossed the grenade into the hall, deliberately aiming low to keep them from returning Alex's favor. The attacker's hand did reach as it clattered to the floor, but Kiril saw it and knocked it away with a well-aimed shot through the arm.

A howl of pain, just loud enough to break through the din, was soon cut short as the doorway erupted into a curtain of fiery smoke. Wood cracked and burned, the walls shaking under the weight of the explosion. The blast was loud enough to mask the sound of bodies tumbling to the floor, their guns finally going quiet.

Freesia grabbed another clip and pressed it into place, the bolt stubborn as she chambered the next shot. Only when the rest of the group stopped to reload did they realize it was over. The dancer kept a cautious ear open for more footsteps, calls for help, rustling cloth and metal; nothing. Whatever had just happened, there wasn't more of it just around the corner.

Juno loosely slung her rifle over her shoulder, thoughts turning to her fallen colleague. "Kiril, Freesia, keep an eye on that door. Oscar, help me with Alex."

His hand finally back on his gun, Alex started to push himself up. Pain caught up with him, however, and with a grimace he collapsed back to the floor. A familiar, almost pleasant stinging was soon upon him as ragnaid worked its magic, though he hissed and shifted in discomfort as his wounds were staunched and sterilized.

"Easy, we've got you," said Oscar, hands shaking as he panned the ragnaid dispenser over the shocktrooper's injuries. "The arm's cut a bit, but it doesn't look like they got anything serious. Alex, you just saved our asses, there."

Juno saw a trickle of red in his blonde hair, a cut atop a nasty welt on the back of his head. She motioned for the dispenser and gently encouraged him to hold still. "He caught the corner of the desk. Alex, are you with us? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah," he groaned, his eyes refocusing. The blue light hovered over the lump on his head, the back of his skull buzzing as it healed. "Ugh, damn it..."

Oscar glanced at the destroyed door, thankful that the hallway's poor lighting hid the soldiers' mangled bodies. "Kiril, what happened?" he asked nervously. "Why did they attack us?"

Swallowing, Kiril fumbled for the words. "I... don't know. I just... man, I probably knew some of those guys. I don't believe this. I can't believe this."

"You said they'd left only a couple men behind," said Juno, freeing Alex as she finished her treatment. "That was four or five. They didn't even hesitate, they just attacked."

"Yeah, that was no mistake, they were after all of us," Freesia said in agreement, afraid to take her eyes off the door. She still couldn't hear anything else, but that was no longer enough for her.

With a long groan, Alex grudgingly rolled over and sat up, watched closely by Juno and Oscar. "Should've known better," the shocktrooper muttered, his hand coming to rest on his weapon once more.

"Alex," Juno cautioned, her tone softer than usual. She wasn't willing to scold someone that had just saved their lives, but Kiril looked every bit as shocked as her team. Accusations wouldn't get them any further.

"Should've known better than to trust them..."

"Alex, they tried to kill him, too. Don't do this."

Kiril flinched, but had no response. His mouth opened for words he couldn't find.

"We need to get out of here," Oscar reminded them, steering the conversation to practical matters. "Is it safe to move him?"

Juno frowned, pushing her sliding glasses back into place. "We've got no choice. Oscar, give me a hand. Freesia, check the hallway, we'll be right behind you. Kiril, you've got the rear."

"Where are we even going?" asked the dancer, taking the lead out of the office.

"The hospital. We've got to find Ballard, fast."

That jolted the engineer back to his senses, if only for a moment. "Are you sure?" he asked.

She nodded firmly. "We have to try. He might be our only hope of sorting this out."

It was hardly a perfect idea, but it was enough to get everyone else moving. Alex fussed a bit as Oscar and Juno took an arm each, though he was too weak and shaky to decline. Freesia took the lead out of the room, cringing as she stepped over the charred remains of one of the commandos. For a moment she had to cover her mouth and nose, the stench of burned flesh causing her eyes to water. The group followed her, carefully walking Alex down the hallway with Kiril close behind.

"What are we going to do?" asked the sniper, blocking out the sight of the bodies and splattered blood on the buckled walls. "I mean, even if we find Ballard and the others, what then?"

Feeling her hold loosen, Juno paused to grab another fistful of Alex's uniform. "If Kiril's right, then he knew more about this than he was telling us. Which means he's either behind this, or he's one of the targets. If we don't get to the bottom of this, the army reinforcements will be walking right into a trap."

"We could run, you know. This was already way beyond our mission," Oscar pointed out.

"And they didn't have to fight the Empire if they just wanted the vault. They're not all behind this."

"What do you think is happening? Why would they turn on us?" asked Freesia, echoing Oscar's questions.

The engineer kept a wary eye on the hallway behind them. "You've got me. I've heard of units going rogue before, but beating their superior officer to death is new. Then again, nothing about this mission is SOP."

Together they made their way to the lobby, its main entrance undisturbed since the Imperial assault blasted the door inwards. Juno and Oscar carefully walked Alex to the staircase, mindful of every loose bit of debris.

From the fore, Freesia quickly scanned the ground level and, seeing no hostiles, signaled the all clear. "Don't see anybody."

"All right, we'll take this one at a time. Freesia, cover us from the balcony."

Alex lowered his foot onto the staircase, gently bringing the rest of his body down afterwards. His handlers held on and descended in time, wary of the grit that had apparently settled on everything in the lobby. Their shuffled, scraping steps echoed loudly in the vaulted silence, broken up only by the wind through the shattered front door. With few sounds to distract them, Juno's thoughts caught up with her. The reality of her situation slowly sunk in, finding cracks in the armor of her training.

Individual parts of a weapon could be dangerous, if handled improperly. Yet they weren't truly a weapon until assembled into a single, deadly device. Likewise, none of this was new to her: responsibility, betrayal, buried secrets, even near-misses with explosives. She'd earned her stripes, metaphorically if not literally, and wasn't one to flinch when duty called.

It was the mixture that sent a chill down her spine, made an enemy out of every shadow. This wasn't duty. This was design. "Just keep moving," she urged, more for herself. "We'll sort this out when we've put this place behind us."

The three finished their descent and made their way for the shattered entrance, boots scraping on pulverized rubble and glass. Alex struggled some more, trying to assert himself; a mistake as he nearly slipped on a stray .50cal casing. He cried out in surprise, legs wobbling as his vision dipped and swayed again.

His handlers recovered him quickly, and he threw a sharp glare at the errant shell. "Who keeps leaving those lying around?" he asked, his tone betraying dim amusement. "You'd think there was some kind of war going on."

"Yeah, the janitor's really slacking," quipped Kiril, traces of strain in his voice.

Juno relaxed a bit, glad for the banter even if it sounded forced. "At least you didn't break your sense of humor. Freesia, Kiril, check outside, make sure the jeep looks clear."

The two stacked up on opposite sides of the entrance, a jagged hole where the heavy wooden doors had been. Beyond, the ruined square stretched into darkness, most of its lights destroyed or inactive. Thoughts of traps and ambushes weren't far from Freesia's mind as she scanned the wreckages and refuse of battle. Yet she was hard pressed to notice anything out of the ordinary, for what definition of 'ordinary' still applied.

The outline of the jeep sat undisturbed in the distance, and for all her squinting and suspicion there was no sign anyone was lying in wait. "The jeep looks clear, but I can't see the other end of the square," she said back to Juno.

"There were good vantage points across the way," Oscar warned, hitching a ride on the dancer's train of thought. "We got lucky with the Imperials, but the commandos could be using them."

"We'll have to take our chances. Oscar, I want you and Freesia to take covering positions while I bring Alex over. Kiril, check it for sabotage."

It barely occurred to her that she was ordering around a soldier from another country, let alone a higher-ranking one. His young, angular face and fading composure spoke of no more experience than her. If anything, he seemed grateful someone else was in charge. "On it," he replied, bracing for the advance.

The wind, once a quiet breeze, had grown in strength to a steady whistle. Its chill greeted them as they left the battle-scarred hall, scout and sniper leading the way through overlapping cover. Alex planted his feet firmly with every assisted step, kicking up tiny puffs of chalky dust that made his skin crawl. Gradually he felt his strength coming back, though the splitting headache wasn't going away anytime soon.

Freesia and Oscar took their places around the jeep, both calling out the apparent lack of hostiles. With toolbag clattering, Kiril slid to a stop next to the vehicle, and in seconds he had his head under the passenger side door. Pliers and penlight in hand, he squinted into the darkness for a telling wire or cylindrical lump.

"They might not've had time to trap it," he mumbled, already feeling more at ease around the machine. Seeing nothing obvious, he pulled himself back out and jogged over to the driver's side. "Just gotta check the ignition..."

Juno couldn't stop from checking every darkened building, feeling exposed as she held Alex up. The wind wasn't helping, though it could claim no credit for the goosebumps on her arms.

"Yeah, we're good," the Darcsen called out as he finished his inspection. He climbed over to the passenger side and waved for everyone else to get in. "C'mon, let's bottle up and go!"

Alex grimaced as he climbed into the back of the jeep, both grateful and reluctant to part from Juno's guiding hand. "I'm not dying, you know, it's just a bump on the head. I'll be okay."

"Just because you don't care about your head doesn't mean nobody else does," she chastised him, again gentler than she normally would have.

The wounded shocktrooper secured, she made her way to the driver's seat. Kiril buckled in next to her as Oscar joined Alex and Freesia hopped in the back. The vehicle shook and sank a bit under their combined weight, and keys jingled on the way to the ignition.

With everyone on board, Juno sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. "Everyone hang on. This might get bumpy."

Tightening his belt strap, Oscar was all too aware of the blasted and cracked pavement in the darkness ahead of them. "You've got some kind of plan, right?" he asked hopefully, yet fearful of the answer. In spite of Kiril's inspection, he half expected the car to blow up anyway with the way the night was turning out.

A turn of the key put fire into the engine, and the militia jeep sputtered to life. "Working on one, but I'm taking suggestions."

"Parker said there was debris on the eastern junction, but that's the straightest way there," said Kiril. "Keep your eyes open."

Slowly the jeep rolled through the lifeless battlefield, weaving through crumbling metal hulks and mutilated lumps that had, recently, been people. Freesia kept her eyes moving from one thing to another, trying to keep from adjusting to the night. She could just make out the face of one of those lumps as they passed, and immediately wanted to strike the image from her mind.

_My head's crowded enough, thanks._

The town square vanished from the rearview mirror as they turned a corner, the glow of its remaining lights fading behind gutted, smoldering ruins. Juno gripped the wheel tightly, kept cautious by the thought of her merely passable marks in driving. The fresh but cold air cut like a knife through the open-top vehicle, further warding off any desire to rest.

She inhaled deeply, tasting it. At the moment she would take whatever comfort she could find, even simple oxygen without the smell of death on it.

"So what _do_ we do if the Feds are all shooting at each other?" Oscar asked over the rushing wind.

Kiril worked through his toolbag, making sure everything was accounted for. "Captain Ballard might be the only one who can make sense out of all this."

"What if he's dead? We would be if not for Alex."

"In that case we run for it, but he's a tough ol' bastard, he wouldn't go down easy. We can trust Preston too, if we can find him. The rest of the company... I dunno, any one of them could have killed the major."

Buildings buzzed past them, a blur of empty shops and tenements mostly spared from the destruction. A wrecked Imperial APC had rolled carelessly into a gas station, knocking over a pump that had run dry before the attack. The vehicle lay forgotten; the station, kicked open and looted clean long ago.

"Your lieutenant's the one that told us about the hospital," Juno said.

A lone streetlight lit up the jeep, offering a glimpse of the engineer's haunted face. "I know, and she went with Parker and Ellie. I'd rather not think about what that means."

Minutes passed, the narrow road stitching and weaving through the dense, abandoned town. Unspoken questions hovered over the jeep's occupants, each asking their variant of just what in the world was going on.

Oscar pried his gloves off and let his head fall into his hands, a finger brushing over the cross-shaped scar above his eyebrow. _I'll have a few more of those before this is over. _His thoughts soon shifted to the cause of the scar, to a brother he'd take a bullet for if it came to that. _Hope Emile's okay... haven't heard from him since this all began. Heh, he'd probably come running if he heard about all this. Like mom doesn't have enough to worry about._

He lifted his head again and sighed, watching the jeep's reflection in a passing window. _Sure could use the help right about now._

The sprawl came to an abrupt end as they rolled into a paved clearing, pockmarked with artillery strikes. Looming large at the center was the general hospital, jutting up like the teeth of some massive beast. No taller than its surroundings, the hospital's flat, utilitarian architecture was at odds with Rhodall's rows of cheery, small-town dwellings. Despite damage from the rockets - a few car-sized holes in the outer walls, pockets of rubble strewn on the lot below - the old building had withstood the assault more or less intact.

Yet dread filled the squad as they pulled into the lot. Ominous details twisted the hospital into something menacing: the flickering, fiery glow through some of the windows; the thudding of a machine gun from somewhere well inside; the body of a commando, mere feet away from the truck they had taken. Whatever had happened, the Gallians were clearly late to the party.

Juno guided the jeep towards the ambulance bay, carefully circling around the truck. To her, the scene would need conscious effort to shout "Turn and run" much louder. She spared a once-over for the fallen commando, just long enough to notice the body had been shot in the back and its weapon was nowhere in sight.

"We're too late," Freesia murmured, her lips parted and breath shallow.

Fighting for control of her frayed nerves, Juno shifted to park and crooked her head towards the shocktrooper. "Alex, can you walk?"

With the gun in his good hand, Alex unlatched his seat belt. The daze had faded with some of the pain, though he was still battered and shaken up. "Yeah... I think I can manage."

"All right. We're going to secure this entrance and I want you and Oscar to cover it while we search for the captain. You see anybody that's not us, you give them one chance to drop their gun. Only one chance. Understand?"

"Don't take any risks, these aren't just grunts we're dealing with," Kiril added.

Alex nodded reluctantly. "We'll manage, but what about you guys? You sure you want to split up?"

Killing the engine, Juno handed the keys back to Oscar. "Wouldn't if we had the choice," she said. "Just keep it secure. We'll be back soon, with or without him."


	12. You've Mistaken Me for Someone Else

**Things Left Behind**

A Valkyria Chronicles fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun

_Notes: Hey-hey! Yes, I'm still here! Back from a somewhat intentional hiatus, as I try to sort out a few things with my life. Mostly I've been stepping up the job hunt, and it's taken quite the chunk out of my schedule. Problem is, the longer I put something off, the harder it is to come back to. Inertia is evil like that._

_Good news is I can get back on track soon, as I've got a nice long vacation coming up. This was also a difficult chapter to write for a few reasons, not least of which was the whole 'writing combat situations' thing. The core idea, which you'll see shortly, was actually settled on some time ago. Also, finally settled on a cover image. That took an embarrassingly long time.  
><em>

_As always, thank you all for your patience. Read on, enjoy, and critique to your heart's content :)  
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><p><strong>You've Mistaken Me for Someone Else<strong>

Mission time: +3:36 hours, 02:34

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><p><em>"It began so nobly, light from the dark. We'd take no fame but leave our mark. "For safety of all," they said as one. "Never you mind how the facts are spun." Cross the border, begin the end, to unending war our forces attend. Little we knew and little we cared what our people had from history spared.<em>

_Too many eyes for secrets unattended. They care not that our past be amended. Two drew knives and aimed for their backs, 'round all that glitters one cannot relax. Nations and memories rent in 'twain. Was that my friend? Best check again. Who knows for what we really fought, but safe from itself our cause is not._

_I pray that someone will find my voice. Memory is no longer my choice."_

_- Results of creative therapy session #6; Leonard Baines, observing psychiatrist_

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><p>"Clear, here."<p>

Alex's words were echoed by everyone else, each covering a part of the sizable reception area. Upon seeing bullet holes in the walls, Juno had ordered a search of every dusty corner. She'd planned to leave Alex and Oscar to guard their flank, though for all she knew someone else had thought the same five minutes ago. The lone, flickering ceiling light couldn't dispel the shadows far enough for her, and she wasn't satisfied until every chair, table, and desk had been checked.

"The evac must've cleaned the place out," Oscar noted, pushing the receptionist's chair aside and panning over the counter. A pencil lay atop a grimy newspaper dated months ago. It seemed everything of value had been taken, and nothing grabbed his gaze amidst the remaining clerical clutter of paper and supplies. Even the phone line was gone, scraps of insulation hinting that someone had looted the wiring.

Freesia was more aware of sounds, or the lack thereof. The gunfire they'd heard from outside had stopped, and with every boot on a checkered tile she expected it to start again. "It's way too quiet," she muttered, tilting her head towards a propped-open set of doors that led further in.

A small push cart hid no secrets or traps, letting Kiril relax just a bit. "Probably searching for survivors, like us. Unfortunately, we're sometimes good at keeping the noise down."

Juno appraised the room with a tactician's eye, checking for vantage points. Through the doors, a solitary light at the junction offered a welcome advantage that she quickly pointed out to Oscar. "Set up line-of-sight down the hall. If anybody shows up beside us, you give them one chance to identify themselves. Alex, I want you to cover from that desk, and keep your ears open for anybody outside. Are we clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," they answered in tandem.

Chairs scraped on the floor as Oscar pulled together a makeshift sniper's nest. Juno motioned for the other two to follow her and, rifle in hand, approached the yawning darkness of the doorway. Wispy tendrils of smoke gathered and crept along the ceiling, nearly invisible but for the movement.

Freesia squinted as she stepped under the junction light, peering down a row of darkened exam rooms. In front of one lay the skeletal remains of a light fixture, knocked from the ceiling during the artillery barrage. "Those shots came from further in, but I can't tell exactly where," she said warily.

"Any thoughts, Kiril?" Juno asked.

"There's no telling how it went down, but those fires looked pretty recent." Kiril motioned to the smoke trail, sweat building on his brow. "Just, ah… follow the burning."

Taking the lead, Juno cautiously crept down the hallway, following the wispy trails. Signs guided them into a wing of emergency rooms, open doors revealing abandoned, rusting operating tables. As with the lobby, everything of value looked to be evacuated, repurposed, or stolen. She gathered that the Imperial incursion had largely spared the building, which made the few signs of battle stand out all the more.

A discarded, jammed rifle spelled out its portion of the tale. Freesia stepped lightly around the weapon, glancing questioningly at Juno. With a somber expression, the scout leader nodded and touched a finger to her lips.

The smoke grew thicker as they advanced, stinging eyes and coaxing stifled coughs. Before long a flickering orange glow seeped around a corner, and Juno cautiously sliced the hall until seeing the tongues of flame for herself. They leaped and danced through an office doorway, mere wisps of the larger fire that claimed the room, mocking the lifeless sprinkler just above them.

Mouth covered, Juno kept her distance and squinted into the office. Whatever had been inside was either charcoal or seconds away from it, with books and furniture reduced to kindling. Wood cracked and snapped as the blaze consumed all, spreading out from the desk and climbing bookshelves up to the ceiling. The doorframe alone was intact, and only relatively so, bearing a suspiciously jagged hole near the latch.

A fluttering bit of burnt paper drove the point home. Kiril sniffed lightly, bothered by the peculiar scent of the smoke; an oily, almost tolerable aroma akin to clean fuel being pumped. Recognition tugged his mouth into a grimace. "Ragnitro."

"What's that?" Freesia asked.

"Ragnitrolulyne." He covered his mouth as he coughed, drawing back from the door. "Ugh. Ragnite-based accelerant. Not powerful enough for an explosive, but they don't issue us flamethrowers on covert ops, so we use it to burn evidence."

Juno frowned, watching as the last stacks of books and papers rapidly disintegrated. More pieces slid into place, an incomplete picture that still revealed a few patterns. "Like the mayor's office," she said, a chill crawling up her spine in defiance of the heat. "It was locked and hadn't been ransacked. Those commandos were probably there to do the same thing. Someone is definitely covering their tracks."

"Begs the question of what's worth burning in a hospital," Kiril wondered aloud.

Muffled gunfire popped abruptly through the walls, easily getting their attention and cutting off further discussion. Distant rifles snapped shots in warning, with shouted orders and running footsteps close behind; unwelcome reminders that the battle had only briefly subsided.

This time, Freesia had no trouble pinpointing the source. Steeling herself for another fight wasn't as easy. "Center of the building. Up the hall, first left. Let's go!"

With renewed urgency, the team left the burning room behind. Part of Juno was screaming to turn and run instead. _You don't know what's going on_, it challenged her, playing on her own rising panic. _You'll be another armed soldier in the darkness, they might shoot you on accident, or you them. You're not here for this. Just pull back and wait for the cavalry._

Morbidly, she wondered how much easier it would have been with no survivors at all.

No sooner had that thought entered her mind than she wanted to slap herself for having it. Finger outside the trigger guard, she willed the doubts into some other corner of her mind. She had made her decision and, come what may, would stand by it. _They wanted us to recon. Let's recon._

More footsteps, closer this time. "They're in the atrium!" one soldier shouted. "Keep them pinned down!"

Figures crossed the hall far ahead, startling the scouts but seemingly oblivious to them. Juno intentionally lagged her pace, determined not to fire until she knew who was who. Even so, she had a hunch that the captain would be on the receiving end of whatever was happening.

In spite of her glasses, she had a known talent for quick appraisals: that split-second glance from behind cover before a competent marksman could react. As they approached the corner, she felt confident they hadn't been noticed and took a longer look to sort out the mess.

It didn't help. The image was ripped almost straight from her worst nightmare. Ringed in shadow, the small atrium was an island of moonlight, with glass shards glimmering beneath a broken skylight. Malevolent figures traded tracerless gunshots, their violent exchange and the clinking of shells going heard but unseen. Assaults came verbally as well, angry taunts filling the gaps between bullets.

Thus, a head of blonde-gray hair taking cover behind a statue base was the closest thing to comfort she could find. The statue itself – a featureless, mythical depiction of the Valkyrur – had been blow off at the knees and lay helplessly on the ground. A rifle barrel timidly crept up over the marble platform, taking aim at a second floor window only to be cowed by suppressing fire.

Freesia motioned for Juno's attention, hand-signaling her own observations. She touched her ear, made numbers and marked heights; three hostiles on the ground floor and one above them.

Signing her understanding, the scout leader turned to check on Kiril. The ambush was one thing, but attacking was another. Her stomach churned at the idea of shooting her own fellows, even if justified, and she could only imagine how the engineer was holding up.

Shadows hid the look in his eyes, but she could see his clenched jaw and rifle. He nodded firmly to her, the message clear: _Do what you have to do_.

Breath held, Juno's eyes searched for movement. A low wall divided the hall from the atrium, giving her some cover as she circled the fray. Even besides the ruckus around her, nearby sounds nearly caused her to jump: someone's equipment clicking and clattering, shaky hands working in a new magazine, an ominous mutter of "You're not stopping us, captain."

That sealed it. She angled her weapon around the corner, quickly spotting the source of the noise. The kneeling shadow fussed with its weapon, then tensed as its masked head turned her way. Whoever it was, its reaction was almost immediate. It released the useless machine gun, one hand going for a hip holster. "Contact!" it shouted in a woman's voice. "East side!"

Juno squeezed the trigger. The nightmare rocked back from the blow, knocked off her feet. A follow-up from Freesia put it on the ground, legs twitching as life left it.

"Gunfire on the right! Jennings is down!" shouted a fellow commando.

"Keep the pressure on! I'll deal with it!"

Predictably, bullets followed the words, sending chunks of wood and plaster into the air around them. Juno ducked down just in time as a hole splashed through the wall, uncomfortably close to her head. She flailed back at her own teammates. "Spread out! Find where it's coming from!"

Kiril and Freesia took wide positions along the wall, snapping shots at barely seen figures. Whatever they hit, it wasn't close enough to halt the incoming fire. "Captain!" Kiril shouted, braving another shot before hiding again. "Stay low, we're here!"

The captain bellowed his answer across the small battlefield. "Nine o'clock, Schoeder's by the elevator! Poe's trying to flank on your seven, watch it!"

"Roger! Juno, check left!"

She sharpened her focus on a corner of the wall and crept towards it under cover. Crossing a sliver of reflected moonlight, she saw a ghostly man-sized outline lean out to fire; just enough movement for her to act first. Her shot missed, the shell steaming as her rifle spat it out. Freesia had better aim, her eyes well adjusted to the darkness, but she scored only a grazing wound. Fortunately, the force of the hit twisted the outline, dragging it further out of cover – right into the path of Kiril's bullet.

Crumpling and bleeding, the commando named Poe tried to lift his rifle again. A second volley stopped him cold, his last breath torn from him as the bullets cut cleanly through his body.

"He's down!" Juno yelled out. The words seemed strangely loud to her ears, and she gradually became aware that the rest of the shooting had died down. Muffled commotion from the floor above offered a reason.

The surviving hostile could be heard clear as a bell. "Shit, we need more men! This isn't over yet, Ballad!"

No answer. Peering across the room, Juno spotted the dull brass framing the elevator and searched for the speaker. Alongside her, Kiril and Freesia trained their guns on the same spot, though the engineer blinked in confusion when he glanced at the statue base. Ballard had vanished.

"They're coming, and even if you kill us, they'll roll right over you! Do you hear me? You're not taking...!"

Schroeder's next words came in a mumbled panic, as if from a hand suddenly clamped over his lips. Bodies shuffled out of sight, and Freesia cringed at the sound of metal plunging into flesh. Seconds passed; a heavy and presumably lifeless thing slumped loudly to the floor.

Slowly, Ballard rose to his feet by the elevator, sheathing a knife and sucking wind. "Think that's it for now," he gasped, daring to step into the open. "One of them got away earlier."

"Captain!" Kiril called out, leaving cover. Juno and Freesia followed his lead. "Are you okay?"

Even in the weak light, the captain was visibly haggard and drained, less from the exertion than from the circumstance. He nodded to the engineer, keeping a tired eye on a partly-open second floor window. "I should ask why you're here while I'm thanking you," he began, "but I already have an idea."

"They attacked us at the town hall. We barely got out alive," Juno confirmed, also watching the window.

"Did anyone else make it, sir?" asked Kiril.

"They killed Clifton first, right in front of me." His was a slow, rumbling growl. The darkness couldn't hide the anger in his eyes. "I was… too slow."

"We saw another body on the way in," Juno said, feeling tactless for even mentioning it.

"MacReady, probably. He made a break for it early. Preston got away to flank the ones upstairs… he may be on the way back."

"So that's why they stopped firing," said Freesia, noting that noise beyond the window had ceased.

"Garity's remaining squad, all of fourth platoon." He shook his head, his voice just starting to crack. "They just… started shooting."

A sharp shriek filled the air and pulled every gun barrel upward. Through the window, two silhouettes frantically grappled with each other, punching and clawing. The melee charged into the window pane, and the glass shattered as it failed to stop them.

Glass and wood fell outward in splinters as the two bodies tumbled from the hole, still struggling and fighting on the way down. By chance one hit the tile first with a weighty thud, battered and broken beneath the other landing on top of him. Both bodies went limp as their heads collided, and only after the glass shower slowed to a trickle did the winner release his death grip.

Gasping and wheezing, the commando jerked the knife free from the chest of his impromptu cushion. He rolled off the lifeless body and let the bloody blade slip from his fingers, seemingly oblivious to the quartet of dumbstruck onlookers. "Thought that guy was dead," he croaked, trying to climb back to his feet.

The balaclava hid his face, but there was no mistaking the baritone. "Preston!" cried Kiril, rushing to aid his colleague.

Preston grimaced as he grabbed Kiril's outstretched hand and pulled himself upright. Slightly dazed, he blinked through his clouded eyes and pulled his mask up to his forehead. "You would not believe the day I'm having," he said dryly, blood trickling from a cut on his lip. He was about to continue when the sight of Freesia and Juno prompted a double take. "Wait, what are you guys doing here?"

"We're having the same day," was Freesia's answer. She took a step back as Preston brushed bits of glass off his outfit. "Kind of."

"So what's going on, captain?" he asked calmly, unperturbed by the mayhem that surrounded them. "Are we the bad guys now, or what?"

Even though the fight had ended, the darkness wasn't getting more hospitable, and Juno was anxious to get moving. "We found the body of your major back at the town hall," she explained, cutting to the chase. "The killer sent a message with the telegraph, and the name of the recipient was one of our generals. Whoever it is, they're after the vault."

Ballard's face was a pile of mixed signals, a stony mask whose every twitch hinted at disbelief. He seemed to stare a thousand yards beyond Juno, here and yet not here. Eventually his eyes shut, and he let out a long, deep sigh. "Of all things…" he whispered to himself before addressing Juno. "It has to be Trish. Her and fourth platoon got to the town hall ahead of us… except Clifton and Mac, they were from first. She kept pushing to check it out."

Kiril caught a glimpse of the pulverized corpse Preston had landed on. "We knew these people," he muttered, gulping past a lump in his throat. "Why did they do this? What in the world is happening?"

"Whatever's down there, it's valuable," said Juno. "Damon wants it, your major might have known about it, and maybe even the Imperials knew about it."

The captain nodded ruefully. "I didn't want to admit it. This was already a massacre, but it was war. This…"

A loud bang cut him off, a far-off crack that might have left a ringing in the ears up close. He jumped in alarm, expecting to be attacked again, but no further shots followed it.

Freesia recognized the report: a sniper rifle. "Oscar," she gasped, throwing a worried look at Juno.

She nodded. "Back to the entrance. Let's go!"

Caution was abandoned as rapidly as the hospital had been. Together, the two teams dashed out of the atrium in the shot's direction, barreling through a set of push-doors. Chipped wall signs and failing lights led them, empty exam rooms whipping by. Their hurried pace brought deeper breaths, drawing in smoky air that scratched their lungs. Preston nearly doubled over as he coughed violently, already winded from his fall.

"Captain, be straight with me. What's down there?" Kiril asked in mid-stride. "It was Parker's men that attacked us at the town hall. They've got to be in on this, right?"

"Maybe, or maybe it's every man for himself," Ballard grunted, shoving a stretcher out of his way.

"But why would they do this?" the engineer pressed.

"Why does anyone ever switch sides?"

The cryptic, rhetorical answer unsettled Juno, but she had no time to dwell on it. She cut a wide angle around a corner, pushing off a wall to keep moving. Above her footsteps and pounding heart she could just make out shouting; barked orders from someone that sounded like Alex.

Finally they came to the starting junction, and the scout leader urged everyone to a stop. Rifle ready, she peered down towards the doors and nervously called out. "Alex! Oscar! Are you okay?"

To everyone's relief, the reply was quick and expected. "We're here!" Alex hollered back. "Caught one of 'em trying to run!"

In seconds, the teams had fully regrouped, practically racing each other to get to the reception area. As they entered, Alex acknowledged them with a nod, keeping his eyes and gun trained on their newfound friend. A pistol slid on the ground as Oscar kicked it away, joining a discarded submachine gun out of reach.

"On your knees, and hands behind your head," said Alex, gesturing insistently with the barrel.

"So there's number five." Ballard stepped towards the masked captive, his voice restrained but menacing. "That makes you… Gilroy. Lance Corporal Devlin Gilroy."

The commando's beaten frown showed right through the mask. He sighed and turned his head. "Present."

A rare sense of loathing settled in Juno's mind. There was nothing to visually distinguish this man from any of the other commandos, yet there was something off about him; his attitude, his demeanor. He'd been cornered and would submit, but wasn't begging or pleading for mercy. It clicked in her mind, a distinct arrogance she had seen only on occasion.

_No remorse, or guilt. He doesn't think he's doing anything wrong. Or he just doesn't care._

"Why'd you do it?" Kiril demanded, pressing his way to the front of the pack. "Why did you betray us!"

Gilroy scoffed. "You're the smart one, dark-hair. You figure it…"

He didn't see the punch coming, perhaps expecting it from the engineer instead. Alex lashed out with astonishing speed, landing a solid right hook to the captive's nose. Groaning in pain, he stumbled back into the receptionist's desk and had to cling to it to keep from falling over.

"He asked you a question," Alex glared at him.

Shock mingled with humiliation behind the mask, tears welling up from the sting of the blow. Gilroy touched at his nose, as if feeling blood dribbling out from it.

"Son, I knew you since basic," said Ballard. "Your father fought in the first war, with honor. _You_ served with honor. And now you turn your back on all of it. Why?"

Gilroy stared back at him, regaining some of his defiance. "I think you know why, captain." He practically spit out the rank. "The question is, did you tell them about it?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Juno, wedging herself into the interrogation. She felt awkward for doing so, but curiosity had dug too deep.

"I'm hardly surprised. You're a fine one to talk about honor, Ballard. 'Never derelict in duty,' right? No matter what it makes you do, no matter what they want to keep hidden."

Kiril twisted free and lunged at the commando, grabbing him by the collar. He had had enough. Rage painted his face crimson, and frustration threw weight into his words. Pistol in hand, he pressed the barrel to the commando's temple and screamed, _"WHAT! IS! DOWN! THERE!"_

"Gold."

The word was so quiet, so gentle, yet it rang out louder than any gunshot, a pitiless period to the chaos that preceded it. All turned towards the captain, and his composure crumbled as his head lowered and shoulders fell. There was no mistaking the posture; it was not betrayal that weighed him down. "It's all about gold," he said, again with an eerie softness.

Everybody had heard him clearly. Nobody had believed him. "What do you mean, sir?" Preston dared to ask.

Gilroy freed himself from Kiril's grasp, ignoring the pistol. "He means, the vault is holding a shipment of refined gold bars. Pure, processed, unmarked, and just waiting to be picked up. It's supposed to be in the billions."

"The vault was built decades ago, but the cache itself dates back centuries," Ballard continued for him. "We suspect it was assembled before Gallia was even a country. In today's money… it is roughly one-third of your country's gross domestic product."

Ever the bookworm, Juno had often wondered about the utility of certain words. Mouthfuls like 'flabbergasted' and 'incredulous' seemed pointless where simpler ones would suffice. "Don't use a bomb when a bullet will do," was the refrain during scout training, and she had adapted it to many other aspects of her life, especially her vocabulary.

One-third of Gallia's material wealth lay somewhere beneath her feet. At long last, she was faced with a situation where 'shocked' just didn't say it.

"I-I don't understand," she stammered, a choice understatement in a night full of them. Her mouth gaped like a fish on dry land. "Wh-what the... how is this possible? Why here? Why doesn't anybody know about this? How do _you _know about this?"

There was no hiding the shame in Ballard's eyes. "Because we helped you bury it."


	13. Everything is Broken

**Things Left Behind**

A Valkyria Chronicles fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun

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><p><em>Notes: Happy New Year, everyone! Hah, so much for work over the break. Funny how the whole 'going back to school because you've been reevaluating your life' thing eats into your free time. Well, that and this is another chapter where the first draft was markedly different. I won't say exactly how, just that I originally had another use in mind for that bullet at the end.<em>

_In technical matters, Gallia's intelligence network is another topic that offers some literary leeway. Given that the invasion caught them by surprise, I'm assuming any hypothetical spies had been tasked more with internal matters; mostly making sure Gallia's big secret stays that way. Of course, then the first game happens. You just know some guy behind a desk got an earful about that one._

_Onward!_

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><p><strong>Everything is Broken<strong>

Mission time: +4:04 hours, 03:02

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><p>"<em>As with the commandos' presence, Gallia never publicly admitted knowledge of the vault's contents, nor of any attempt to retrieve them. However, an audit of the Royal Treasury confirmed it had copies of every public lease in Rhodall except for vault D-02. Furthermore, army radio logs proved that Charlie company, general Damon's hand-picked detachment, had been dispatched before the scouts' transmission.<em>

_The general's later death at Ghirlandaio rendered the issue somewhat moot, though he would not have been the only interested party. After all, bond drives and rationing couldn't fully offset the damage to Gallia's industrial capacity. Even with Fouzen reclaimed, Gallia was often forced to purchase weaponry and supplies from Federation consortiums. At the war's peak, roughly three out of every five tanks bearing the Lion's Paw came from foreign steel._

_As the saying goes, an army moves on its stomach, and a gold reserve valued at 318 billion Ducat buys quite the meal."_

_- Irene Koller, "On the Gallian Front"_

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><p>"I'll tell you everything I was told."<p>

Ballard sank into the creaky waiting room chair, its legs shifting and scraping the grimy tile. Gone was the cold, hardened stare; all along, merely a shell hiding the turmoil now written all over his weathered face. Around him gathered the Gallian scouts and the remnants of his own unit, some visibly upset but all hanging on every word. Smoke continued to build along the ceiling, though the fire was barely a footnote in the story playing out before them.

"The concern about Imperial activity was real. We had information that suggested they would attempt to sidestep the front line. What I didn't say was the information came from one of Dawes' contacts. The Ministry of Intelligence wouldn't authorize the mission, they believed it wasn't credible. But Dawes somehow convinced the colonel to go ahead with it."

"So we'd heard. Where did he get that intel?" Kiril asked.

The captain faced Juno, speaking slowly, reluctantly. "From your people. This vault, this D-02... it was a joint project between both our countries. Our major, a lieutenant at the time, was stationed here, as a liaison to your intelligence agency."

Juno had heard of them only in passing, a tidy little acronym that came up whenever something happened behind Imperial lines. No doubt the full story was messier. "You're talking about OSSRID," she said.

He nodded. "Gallia's Office of State Security, Royal Intelligence Division. Only a handful know where the gold itself came from. However, the vault was meant to conceal it, and OSSRID had assistance from the Federation in so doing. It was your agency that knew about the Imperials in advance, and they discreetly relayed that information to us, through Dawes."

Oscar tried to follow the logic, only to dead-end in a puzzled frown. "I don't understand, why not us? Why not send the army to deal with it?"

The snide voice of their captive cut through the air. "The answer is in the question, Gallia."

Alex balled up his fists and glared at him. "Who asked you?"

"No, he's right," Preston said, putting himself between the two. "Who do you think they're hiding it _from_?"

Freesia caught on and finished the thought. "If they worked with you guys to build it, they both must want to keep it hidden."

Kiril squeezed the back of his neck, working out an unpleasant kink. "But why? What's so important about some stash of gold, even a big one? Why would it involve all of us?"

Ballard let out a long, heavy sigh. "As I said, few know that answer. Dawes may have known, not that it matters now. I suspect your agency feared the Imperials were looking for it, and could not risk your people uncovering it."

"But Kiril said he didn't know either, so wouldn't you guys be a risk too?" Oscar pointed out.

"Nothing is without risk, but we wouldn't stick around afterwards. Regardless, I'm sorry for keeping this from you. It was classified, but I truly did not expect it to affect the mission."

The information was gradually sinking in with Juno. Although wary of Ballard, she found it hard to outright hate him; he seemed genuinely shaken by his soldiers' betrayal. For her part, she was merely glad that the madness was beginning to make some sense. "So where does your lieutenant fit into this? Or Damon, for that matter?"

Ballard turned his attention to Gilroy. "A question for the good corporal, I'm sure. Dawes confided only in myself and captain Marlowe of Foxtrot, both of whom are now dead. So, what's your angle here, son?"

"They're probably just trying to steal it," said Alex, fists still clenched. He was itching for the defeated commando to try something stupid.

Gilroy nursed his nose, sore and bleeding from the blow. "No sense denying it now. Garity got in touch with Damon. I don't know how, and I don't care. We were supposed to get it open for him once the Imperials were dealt with. He gets to look like a hero for 'recovering' it, we take a finder's fee, and everyone goes home happy."

Kiril stared daggers at him, as if contemplating the use of more literal weaponry. "Except us."

"Yeah, well, those are the breaks. We're all trained to do horrible things to our fellow man. Some of us just pick our own reasons for it."

"That's what you call it?" Alex pushed his way around Preston. "You betrayed your men, you betrayed all of us, just for money!"

"Don't start, Gallia," he replied with a disgusted growl, his voice growing in strength and defying his injury. He glared right back at Alex, daring him to swing. "You of all people should understand, sitting comfortably on the sidelines while our people were fighting and dying. You take care of your own, damn the consequences for everyone else."

Juno could feel her own blood starting to boil. Logic told her the comment was overly simplistic, likely to provoke a reaction. In her gut, she hoped nobody would stop Alex from taking another swing.

"Some of us don't feel like going back home to starve in some ghetto, or work ourselves to death on the kolkhozes. You call it whatever you want, I call it…"

The sudden snap of a machine gun cut his speech short, startling everyone except the shooter. Their silence allowed the ping of the shell ring out clear as day.

Preston lowered his weapon, having stepped away from the group and fired deliberately down the hallway. "Kind of a tight schedule," he reminded the group.

"Point taken," the captain agreed. "Where is Garity?"

Off put by the gunshot, Gilroy let his rant go. "Once we were done with the... evidence, we were supposed to regroup at the vault entrance. Damon had a reserve unit that would meet with us there. Might be there already."

"Aren't all his forces supposed to be at Naggiar?" Freesia asked.

"_Supposed_ to," said Juno doubtfully. "So why lure Ballard here? What was in that office?"

"Just killing two birds with one stone." Alex bristled at Gilroy's use of 'birds', though the captive paid him no mind. "Hospital records are one of the last loose ends to tie up. They prove that foreign contractors were injured and treated during the vault's construction."

"And the town hall?"

"The archives and the mayor's office. The vault combo has to do with Gallia's history, some date is tied to the lock mechanism."

Oscar snapped his fingers. "Right, there was all that history stuff in the office. Old maps and papers."

"Then Parker's men were to torch the room, and us with it," Kiril said.

Gilroy scrunched up his wounded face. "Parker? No, it's just us. Damon's people were to take care of the town hall."

What few pieces had connected slid right back out of place. Juno threw a confused glance at Ballard, who looked equally nonplussed. "What?" they said in unison.

"Yeah, we had to improvise after the assault, but there were enough of us left to stick to the plan. With all she knew about this thing, you'd think she was working for them all along. Me, I just wanted to take my share and…"

Kiril stopped him in midsentence. "No, wait. Then why did Parker's men attack us?"

Again, the captive looked lost. "Wait a second, no, that… they did what?"

"Don't play dumb. They waited until we were bunched up in the mayor's office and just pitched a grenade right in. If not for Alex, they'd be scraping us off the damn walls!"

"Whoa, whoa, hang on!" Any hint of defiance vanished as he realized the engineer was serious. "I don't know what you're talking about! Garity wanted us to head straight to the vault after this, I don't know anything about Parker or whoever at the town hall!"

"Bullshit!" Alex snapped, jabbing his finger in Gilroy's face. "You tried to kill us!"

"Hey, I'm not hiding from what just happened, but we were all here! 'Leave the Gallians alone, Damon's boys will get them out of our hair.' That's what she said!"

"Then who the Hel were they!" Kiril shouted, his face flushed with anger.

"Damon's… will…" the captive started to repeat, trailing off as something creased his masked brow; a glimpse of unwanted insight. "Oh, shit."

Ballard hadn't stopped anyone from closing in, but at those faint words the captain silently motioned for Kiril and Alex to back off. "What is it?" he asked plainly.

Shame may have been beneath Gilroy, but despair had no such trouble. He stumbled backwards against the desk, sliding to the floor and letting a feeble laugh escape. "Loose ends… there was never a way out, was there? It was doomed from the start."

A slow, gnawing doubt nipped at the edge of Juno's thoughts, the creeping sensation of having done something wrong. The little things stood out all the more in reflection: the larger number of commandos, the message that went straight to Damon, the fact that they hadn't stopped to actually check the bodies. She swatted the suspicion back, but it kept coming, bringing more details with it.

_The army did ask for militia scouts instead of using their own,_ she thought, and to her horror she couldn't remember the reason why. _No, no, it can't be. This can't be what it looks like._

From the growing looks of horror amongst her colleagues, she wasn't alone in pondering the implications. Only Alex was still lost, anger keeping him from reaching the same conclusion. "What? What is it?"

"He means, those men may not have been who they appeared to be," said Ballard, ominous and quiet. "And that you may, in fact, be more expendable than the army usually means."

That finally got through, a look of disbelief crossing Alex's face. "No… no way," he vigorously shook his head. "Damon's a bastard, but… that's crazy! They couldn't have been our guys!"

"I mean, the uniforms…" Freesia began, her eyes going wide at the idea. "Kiril, you knew them, didn't you?"

Kiril stammered, himself struggling with the concept. "Y-yeah. I thought they were… I mean, they were our outfits, but we didn't have time to really check…"

From the floor, Gilroy gave a rueful smirk. "I guess we're all sons of bitches now."

Juno was a half-step away from throwing a punch herself.. "Shut up. We don't know who they were."

"She's got a point, everybody calm down," said Preston, seemingly the only person unfazed by the news. "What we know about this couldn't fill a postcard. Captain, we should contact what's left of Foxtrot. They'll tell us if any of Parker's people are missing."

"Good thinking," Ballard nodded. "But we also have to find Garity and stop her. If what our friend here said is true, then she'll be at the vault already."

"He said Damon's group might be there," Alex reminded him.

"Quite so. I've no intention of starting another fight, but we simply can't let her escape after all this."

Juno backed off and tugged at the collar of her uniform, responsibility tightening around her like a noose. She could practically see the binary choice in front of her: help Ballard or get her team to safety. _Your job's done, it's time to go home,_ she told herself, a familiar, doubtful tone that had the weight of logic behind it this time. _Trying to be a hero might get us all killed. We've risked way too much as it is. You're in way over your head. This isn't like the town hall; you have a way out, you know what the sensible option is._

For lack of any further input, Alex broke away from the group and looked to Juno for guidance. "So what do we do?" he asked, hoping she had another plan for the occasion.

Ballard's downcast eyes spoke volumes. "For what it's worth, Miss Coren, I doubt your people would knowingly fire on you. Our course is set, but I only speak for my men. You still have a chance to get yours out of here, and I strongly suggest you do so."

Alex started to speak before a puff of smoke drifted under his nose. He grimaced and waved his hand to disperse it, reminded of the layers of grit covering his face and equipment. "I dunno," he said between loud coughs. "We've probably missed our evac by now, and I don't even know if we could trust it."

"We've got the jeep outside, we could just ride straight back to base," Oscar suggested uneasily. Curiosity was getting to him, but not enough to compel him to stay.

"I don't know, man. It's too late to just walk away and pretend we didn't see anything. Even if those weren't Damon's guys, he's in this, and I don't think this kind of problem goes away on its own."

"But is that really our job? We're already in over our heads here."

"There's no one else we can trust!"

Sweat beaded on Juno's brow, more from the pressure than the heat of the room. Tired, grimy, and short on answers, she knew there was nothing forcing her to stay, and little to go on if she did. The squad was as drained as her, and the militia would need them at the front line soon enough. It wasn't even their responsibility; it was time to go home, let the officers sort things out.

And yet it changed nothing about her decision. Buried secrets, collaboration with foreign agents, theft, murder, betrayal. She didn't want to agree with Alex, but she was on the same page: this problem wasn't going away, and no one else was close enough to help. Even if they got back to base and reported everything, there was no guarantee anything would be done about it. For all she knew, Damon could simply have the commandos butchered, and would soon learn about the meddlesome group of scouts that had discovered what he was up to.

"Juno?" Freesia asked hesitantly, also hoping for some clever idea.

The scout leader let a breath past her lips, and she pushed her slipping glasses back to their proper perch. _Just like out of some bad spy novel. This could all end very, very badly._

"This is our mess, too," she finally said, slowly panning her eyes over both groups. "All we've seen tonight, all we've had to deal with… the war would've brought it to our doorstep sooner or later. Even if the Empire was only after this gold, there's no question what their next target would be. We didn't stumble into danger. We were already _in_ danger. All we're doing now is confronting it."

No response, and no signs of disagreement. She swallowed quietly and kept going. "Ballard said he only speaks for his men. Technically, I can't speak for any of you, we're all the same rank. I'm inclined to help them, to finish this and find out what Damon has been up to. If any of you disagree… now's the time to say so. It's not too late."

The commandos kept a respectful distance, and her own squad traded looks. Questions bounced wordlessly between them, Oscar fidgeting nervously and Freesia giving the faintest hint of a nod.

"That's not how it works," Alex said at last, tugging his weapon strap tighter. Before Juno could say anything, he added, "Welkin said you're in charge. You lead, we follow."

Relief flooded her at the answer, and she allowed herself a tiny smile. "Thanks, Alex."

"Are you sure about this?" asked Ballard. "There's no telling what we'll run into at the vault."

"We've been getting that a lot," Alex replied confidently.

The older commando bowed his head respectfully, his eyes closing for a moment. "You have no idea… how sorry I am to involve you in this."

Kiril cleared his throat. "So what do we with him?" he asked, indicating their former colleague.

All eyes turned, and Gilroy once more found himself the center of attention. Half the room looked ready to kill him, and the other half registered only disdain and disgust. Even through the mask, he was a man beaten twice over; too haughty to admit fault, but smart enough to know he was done.

He let his head go slack, sighing at the floor. "Do what you have to," he muttered.

Ballard knelt near him, staring him in the eye. "We don't kill our own, son. Preston?"

Preston picked up the dropped weapons, slinging the submachine gun and removing the pistol's magazine. "Golf with Charlie, sir?" he asked.

"We don't have time for anything else."

The Gallians merely watched as Preston walked over to the captive and placed the weapon by his feet. It soon dawned on them that, with only the round in the chamber, it was good for exactly one purpose.

Ballard rose to his feet, turning his back on Gilroy. "Let's get moving. Make sure he doesn't get any ideas."

With Preston holding Gilroy at gunpoint, the other six started to file out of the waiting room. Oscar was last to leave, though he noticed the scraping as the pistol was lifted off the floor. He took one last look and saw the captive press the barrel to the side of his head.

"Hey, Preston." Oscar heard him say.

"Yeah?" The sniper turned around and pushed through the exit. He didn't want to watch.

"I hope you get it back someday."

The doors closed behind Oscar. The dead city whistled its breeze, ignoring the soft gunshot.

* * *

><p>"Foxtrot, this is Bravo-six. What's your status, over?"<p>

Freesia watched as the hospital disappeared, left behind as the truck bounced its way down the road. Streetlights cast rolling shadows through the back, punctuated by the odd burning building. Pacing the truck was the militia jeep, Oscar at the wheel with Alex riding shotgun.

She understood why Juno had split them up, joining her in the truck to keep an eye on the commandos. She was positive Ballard understood this too, as he had avoided meeting Juno in the eye. Implicit in every word, every awkward pause, was the knowledge that things could go even further south in a hurry.

The dancer could only calm herself by saying it wasn't her call, a cold comfort at best.

A woman's voice came in over the static of the radio, loud if not entirely clear. "Bravo-six, this is Foxtrot… kind of."

Seated near the cabin, Kiril blinked and reeled back slightly from the radio. "Ellie?"

"Kiril! Am I glad to hear from you!"

"Sounds like she got better," Preston remarked, busily scribbling in his notebook.

"Guess they raise 'em tough in Arlon," Kiril said before hitting the talk button again. "Uh, how are you feeling? What's going on? Are Parker and Garity with you?"

"Still a little woozy, but I'm walking. Those two took about a half-dozen guys to the vault. Only eight of us here now – the wounded, medics, a couple guards – and I'm the ranking officer at the moment."

"Good. Listen carefully, we've got a big problem. This whole thing was a smokescreen. It's all about gold, lots of it."

"You're serious? How much is 'lots of it'?"

The truck rattled as it skipped a pothole, and Freesia grabbed a seat back to steady herself. "A _lot_," Kiril repeated for emphasis. "Both Gallia and the Federation built the vault decades ago to hide it. We don't know the full story, but Garity and fourth platoon went rogue over it, and we think Parker might be involved too."

A momentary silence. "Holy shit. Tell me everything you know. What happened?"

Freesia started to tune out as Kiril gave her the play-by-play. Her mind was thoroughly jumbled, obstructing her attempts to understand the scope of their situation. True, she rarely concerned herself with the finer points of the militia's campaign, but there was always clarity of purpose. _'Are they invading? Yes? Then shoot back until they stop.'_ Their drill sergeant had even put it in those terms on one occasion.

It seemed like a lifetime ago. Freesia York – dancer, flirt, footloose orphan, fish-out-of-water in uniform – had shot and killed someone she had fought alongside that same night. Whether it was one of the commandos or her country's own spies seemed an academic distinction at this point. There was no sudden realization, no hard impact, no drama of a world come crashing down; merely the slow, unceasing pull of gravity, a drag on every thought until they all piled into each other.

"So what's Golf with Charlie? What does it stand for?" Juno asked Preston, seated across from her.

"Gentleman's courtesy," he said without looking up. "Not exactly standard procedure, but there were no good options left."

The scene had felt wrong to Juno, but she had no better ideas and balked at pressing the issue. "I understand. Are you okay?"

"Just a bruise and a headache. I'll live. It's them I'm worried about." He thumbed towards the cabin. "I know Kiril has a temper, but that's the first time I've seen him threaten someone. And the Captain… well, he hides it better, but I think he's losing it, too."

Juno unhooked her canteen, nearly empty by the weight of it. "I don't think I can blame him," she said, unscrewing the cap. "It's bad enough just thinking those were Damon's people back at the hall. I'd probably freak out too if it was someone in our own squad."

"You defended yourselves, and came after us – that's two we owe you, by the way – so try not to think too hard about it."

Freesia leaned back, slumping against the side of the truck. "You sound rather calm about all this."

He finished his writing, shutting the notebook and gazing out the back of the truck. "Someone has to. I'm not really that stoic, but we've gotta stay cool if we're getting through this. Besides, it's… not my first brush with friendly fire."

Taking a sip of water, Juno swallowed greedily, only just then realizing how thirsty she was. She polished off the canteen and smacked her lips, lacking anything clean to wipe them. "There's a story behind that, I imagine."

Preston shrugged nonchalantly and slid the book back into his pocket. "Honestly, I got a lot on my mind, but I don't want to bother you two with it. I can punch a pillow and scream about it on my own time."

The motion made a question pop into Freesia's head. "So, what are you always writing in there?" she asked.

He shifted in his seat, growing uncomfortable from the sudden scrutiny. "Just… details, personal notes. I sometimes have trouble focusing, but writing something down helps me keep it straight."

Juno replaced her empty canteen. "Wouldn't they confiscate that?"

"They do, but it still helps." He looked out the back again, watching as streetlights vanished behind them. "And… what are we, that do not remember?"

The dancer recognized the phrase. A quote, a line from a play; the name eluded her, but she remembered the next line.

"_Empty."_


	14. Willful Blindness

**Things Left Behind**

A Valkyria Chronicles fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun

_Notes: And so we near the climax of the story, where events conspire to produce as much drama as possible while conveniently tying up loose ends. Plots are twisted, secrets are revealed, and the author tries to remember his own dropped hints from earlier in the story, so said twists won't feel like they were made up on the fly. Good times!_

_Part of this scene was transplanted from an earlier idea, where one of the militia squad would have encountered a deranged townsperson who hadn't evacuated. It felt like a blatant infodump in practice, so it got tweaked into what you see here. The l__yrics are from "Rewind" by Poets of the Fall. I originally considered the piano arrangement of "Dirge for the Planet" by Firelake, but felt this fit the scene better. Feel free to Yout__ube them and hear for yourselves._

_As usual, feedback is always appreciated. Let's carry on!_

* * *

><p><strong>Willful Blindness<strong>

Mission time: +4:35 hours, 03:43

* * *

><p><em>"Mr. Prime Minister:<em>

_The last shipment will arrive in two weeks. Once it has been offloaded and stored, final containment protocols will be enacted, signaling the project's completion. As previously discussed, all staff beyond a token guard force will be relocated to other postings, with any paperwork to be handled locally through the mayor's office. While construction of the vault is more or less an open secret, this is secondary to the secrecy of its contents, for which only hand-picked individuals have been given access._

_Most Federation personnel are also unaware of the vault's purpose. However, their assistance engenders any number of exposure threats, certainly while their Ambassador Preston is personally on site. Gallia's safety takes precedence over all other matters, and a recent accident with one of their contractors presents a unique intelligence opportunity. I have attached the dossiers of several promising agents, with an eye towards younger candidates for long-term covert surveillance._

_Sincerely,_

_Aleister von Damon, Gallian Office of State Security, Royal Intelligence Division"_

_- Draft text of letter found in OSSRID site D-02_

* * *

><p>"All right, all together now: what's wrong with this picture?"<p>

The town and its paved roads had fallen behind them, leaving loose gravel to ring and thread through the isolated warehouse lots. Scattered farmhouses and the odd grain silo dotted the horizon, cloaked in the darkness surrounding Rhodall's smoldering skyline. A determined breeze coaxed a constant hiss from tall grass, accompanied by the clanking of engines as both the truck and the jeep came to rest.

Huddled in front of the vehicles, everyone regarded the nearest lot - D-02, according to a sign - with suspicion and unease. The active lights were among the few things separating the building from its distant neighbors, but, as Alex had hinted, that was bad enough. Yard lights cast their pale glow over the outside, revealing the rust flaking through otherwise undamaged steel. Cracked pavement stretched out to the cranes and rail lines, ill-maintained and seemingly disused even before the invasion.

The warehouse design was as plain as could be, yet the lights painted a vague malevolence over its benign architecture. Second floor windows glowed like eyes, and the massive roll-door lay agape like a mouth locked in a silent scream. Neither man nor machine could be heard, with only loading cranes and derelict vehicles – a few trucks and a single forklift – to fill the yard.

"I have to pick just one?" Kiril asked. A ghost of a chuckle couldn't hide his anxiety.

Out in the open, the wind was strong enough to send a chill through Freesia's uniform. "Nobody turns the lights on and just leaves the doors wide open," she said, getting to the point. "What do we do?"

"From those papers in the archives, it looked like the warehouse was just an empty shell," Alex added.

"Correct," Ballard said. "There's a big ramp that leads to a cargo elevator, which goes down to the vault complex. The building is just covering the hole."

Oscar threw a furtive glance at the silent warehouse. "Do we have any idea what we're walking into?"

"Not much. According to Ellie, Parker and his team should have been here by now. If Gilroy told us the truth, so should the Gallian army. I can't see anyone from here, but…"

"…that doesn't mean nobody's home," said Juno, bracing herself for a fight. "Freesia is right, nothing so secret would have been left wide open."

Kiril chewed on his lip for a moment. "I don't know about this. We've wandered into enough traps that I'm starting to see patterns, and this is looking awfully familiar."

The captain tugged his submachine gun off his shoulder. "We've got what we've got, Kiril. But in case you're right, I want you to get back on that radio and try to raise Parker. Let him know we're out here and rounding up survivors to regroup with Ellie, but only you, me, and Preston. Don't say a word about the rest."

"Wouldn't that still tip them off?" Oscar wondered aloud.

Juno caught on quickly. "I think that's the idea. That soldier said they went after us separately, which means they're not expecting all of us together."

"Exactly," said the captain. "We advance slowly, and once we find who we're dealing with, we keep it blue-to-blue: Miss Coren does the talking if it's her people, we handle if it's ours. And if it's empty, we find a way to seal the warehouse and escape."

Kiril nodded. "You guys be careful, all right?" he said, a trace of a quiver in his voice.

Preston patted the nervous engineer on the shoulder. "Easy, man. We'll get through this."

As the engineer left, Ballard turned back to Juno. "I believe reconnaissance is your field. We'll move on your go."

She gave the approach a closer look, her teeth chattering as she sucked in a cold breath. Pieces of the warehouse detached themselves in her eyes, their elements broken down to tactical pros and cons: angles of approach, lines of sight, possible flanking points. One detail jumped out that she hadn't noticed before, large pieces of sheet metal welded over the doors and windows of an apparent side office.

"Yeah, I just noticed that," said Alex, seeing her stare. "So much for the easy way."

She couldn't fathom why, but doubted they could breach it in a timely fashion. _Maybe we can use those trucks,_ she thought, focusing on the main door. _One of them looks like it lines up with the entrance. That might work._

"Oscar, you see that right-hand truck?" She pointed to the one furthest from the entrance, a red pickup with flat tires. "Set up there, that's your best shot into the building. Freesia, you spot for him, and wait for the all-clear to move in. Alex, you're with me. We'll cover from the left and follow Preston."

"Where do you want us?" Preston asked as she addressed him.

"You're on point, and it's on you to signal depending on who's there. Ballard, I want you by that forklift on the left. Move when he does."

"Done deal."

"Any questions?" she asked, scanning the moonlit faces.

Doubts crept through cracks in her plan, and she secretly hoped that someone had a better idea than 'send someone into the obvious trap and see what happens'. Yet nobody spoke up, no concerns were raised. If there was a safer approach, Juno wasn't the only one missing it.

The captain flicked the safety off his weapon. "You're up, son. We'll be right behind you."

Preston nodded, taking the lead without hesitation. Juno, however, was close enough to hear him mumble "I feel amazingly expendable," as the teams began their advance.

Gravel and dirt scraped under rushed footsteps as the squad spread out. Preston broke left, followed at a distance by Ballard. Oscar quickly got alongside the truck, dropping prone to line up the shot between the wheels. On his left, Freesia peered cautiously over the hood with a pair of binoculars, her eyes adjusting to the light.

Amidst a loose clutter of crates and barrels, she spied black-garbed bodies lying on the floor. "Juno, commandos down!" she called out. "Two of them!"

Squinting into the scope, Oscar saw two more bodies further in; Gallian uniforms. He felt the color drain from his face. "Oh no… those are ours. We're too late!"

"Damn it!" Alex looked to Juno. "Now what?"

"Stick to the plan, let's find out what happened."

Preston continued up to the entrance, pressing himself flat against the wall beside it. He peered cautiously through the opening, Freesia and Oscar watching for a sniper or other hostile to make their move. When none came, Preston signaled back to Ballard, who soon joined his colleague at the door.

Juno motioned to her shocktrooper. "Our turn. Move up to the forklift."

Advancing under cover, Alex and Juno crossed the yard with ease. Again they expected a waiting shooter to greet them, and again they were instead met with nothing.

Stacking up behind the captain, Juno asked, "See anything?"

"Looks bad, more bodies inside," he whispered. "Preston said at least three of ours, five of yours."

Her heart sank and her stomach roiled. Hope of a clean resolution between their groups, already dwindling, shattered like glass. "Okay," she sighed heavily, trying to put the eventual aftermath out of her mind. "Okay, we move in. Preston, Ballard, you check low. Alex, you and me watch the catwalk. We go on three."

She counted down all too quickly. The echoes of rushed footsteps filled the air as each of them moved in, taking scattered positions throughout the well-lit warehouse. Juno edged out from behind a steel girder supporting the catwalk, still expecting a sniper's bullet to lash out at the exposed teams. When none came, she finally acknowledged what her imperfect eyes told her: save the bodies, there was not a soul in sight.

"All clear!" she called out, waving in their sniper support. "Everyone gather up!"

For a warehouse, it was conspicuously empty. Apart from a few crates and hollow-sounding ragnite drums, the only notable feature was the ramp itself: a smooth, centrally-placed slope leading beneath the floor, wide enough to accommodate at least two trucks side-by-side. Dim lights lined the descending walls, flickering in their struggle to stay lit, and the troopers instinctively gave the tunnel a wide berth as they entered.

In seconds, Freesia and Oscar joined them in assessing the damage. It was even worse up close, with over dozen bodies splayed out on the floor and upper balconies: five commandos, eight Gallians. Bullet marks dotted every surface, many clustered on objects that had failed as protection. Juno turned away in disgust from a Gallian soldier, his head nearly gone thanks to an apple-sized hole through a fallen stack of wooden pallets.

Oscar winced and covered his mouth, the stench of blood and gunpowder almost overpowering him. Death was nothing new, but Gallian bodies were one wrinkle too many. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he groaned through his hand.

Ballard squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. "I didn't want this… I told them to avoid your people."

"We don't know what happened, sir," Preston said. "This all happened in close range, maybe they surprised each other."

Alex frowned. "That's supposed to make it better?"

Preston didn't answer. However, the silence allowed one audio detail to stand out to Alex, and it left him even more unsettled. He questioned his ears at first, but from the looks of his teammates he was not alone. One by one, they all turned their heads towards a closed office door, each curious about the faint, somehow scratchy sound of a guitar and soft, indistinct vocals.

"A record player," Ballard quietly observed. "Preston, check it out."

Juno nodded to her fellow scout. "Freesia, cover him."

Without protest, the two moved to opposite sides of the door. Peering through the grimy window, Freesia saw nothing immediately alarming in the darkness: outlines of desks, filing cabinets, a long-dead potted plant. Preston cautiously tried the handle, which squeaked but otherwise turned easily. The song grew louder as the door opened, picking up a gentle drum backing as the male voice sang a mournful verse. It was no comfort for either of them, and Freesia nodded as she lifted her rifle.

"_If life itself has a meaning, is it anything more than what we choose to call it?__"_

Preston crept into the room, studying the layout. A low wooden shelf nearly split the room in two, forming a square ring with small dividers between each desk. He flicked the light switch and made a dash for the far side of the ring, dropping rapidly into cover. No movement, no noise beyond the music; an old gramophone player sitting by itself on one of the shelves.

"_Sweet words make appealing, but they only serve to mask the smell of what you buried."_

Freesia peeled to the right, taking the other half of the room. Her eyes passed a dusty CB radio and immediately locked on the far end, where ceiling lights shined on a body slumped over the manager's desk. "Preston, look," she said, making note of the camouflage.

"_Is it worth your while to spend on a lie? Even though you cannot see eye to eye?"_

He lay face down, unmasked and unresponsive, showing only the mussed brown remnants of an army haircut. Subtle signs of life gave him away: shoulders rising and falling, the idle twitching of outstretched hands. As the two drew near, he stirred, nudging aside a clear empty bottle and lazily crooking an eye towards his guests.

"_Give in to the rumor seduction, run by fear and all the good intentions?"_

Preston lifted the needle off the record as he passed, stopping the music. "Parker?" he asked, keeping a careful distance from the commando.

"Oh, you're alive," corporal Parker mumbled into the desk, one of his hands sliding over a plain sheet of paper. "Lucky you."

Freesia also stayed back, her growing fatigue and paranoia stoking the fear of a trap. The bottle slipped off the desk, shattering on the floor with a loud, heavy crack. Chunks of glass shot out across the floor; the commando barely budged.

"Stash of whiskey in one of the drawers," he explained lazily. "False bottom. 'sanother bottle if you want it."

Juno called through the doorway. "Freesia! Preston! You two okay in there?"

"We're fine!" Preston yelled back. "It's corporal Parker, he's alive!"

"Don't mind me. Doesn't matter."

Toeing aside a piece of glass, Freesia slowly stepped up to the desk. "What happened here?" she asked, not counting on a straight reply.

"Whassit look like… ran into trouble. Ambushed us. LT… she sold us out, the bitch."

Preston rounded the desk and grabbed the corporal's shoulders, forcing him to sit upright. Although tattered, Parker's vest and uniform showed no sign of injury, and the only red came from the trooper's bloodshot eyes. In spite of his young age, his square jaw and the thin scar across his cheek gave him the appearance of a battle-hardened soldier; or at least he had been, prior to the drinking.

"Corporal, we need a no-bullshit answer," Preston said sternly. "What happened?"

That seemed to get through, though only just. Parker blinked his eyes clear and sat up straight, shrugging off Preston's hands. "Place looked deserted, so we checked it out. The lieutenant, s-s-she went in first," he said, the whiskey strong on his breath and slurring his words. "Said she s-saw the floorplan, knew what to look for."

"The archives documents," Freesia remembered. "Alex said someone had searched them before us."

"Yeah, well she got the lights on and the main door open. We followed her in and then we hear this… this grinding, coming up from below."

Slinging his SMG, Preston dug out his notebook and started jotting down details. "Garity opened the vault?" he guessed.

Parker shrugged, slowly coming out of his inebriated stupor. "S-sounded like a big door. Think the controls are in the tunnel. But then out of nowhere… Gallian soldiers, maybe eight of 'em. Everybody started panicking, pointing weapons. Tried to convince them we weren't here to fight, captain s-s-said to avoid 'em."

"Who shot first?"

The corporal hunched in his chair, face flinching at the memory. "The lieutenant, she came up from the ramp, said they couldn't afford loose ends. They motion her aside, and then…" His face found its way to his hands, fingers kneading his tired temples. "It just happened so fast. By the time we realized s-she'd… betrayed us, there were only three of us left."

"We fought back… killed 'bout four when she broke away, ran for the back stairway. Kamarov chased her, but I don't think he got far. Soto took two to the stomach. We got the rest, but he bled out. I was alone."

Parker pulled himself back to the desk, his hand flipping over the sheet of paper to reveal the printing on the other side. "Curiosity… got the better of me. I looked around. I don't know what's down there, but when they left, they tried to hide its secrets. I found one they missed."

Freesia grabbed it first, and Preston joined her in reading it: a letter addressed to a 'Mr. Prime Minister,' making references to a covert project and cooperation with the Federation. Her eyes narrowed as she spotted the name at the end: Aleister von Damon, whose family name was represented in the army by his son, General Georg von Damon.

_Guess the apple didn't fall far from THAT tree,_ she scowled in her thoughts. _I'll bet that's how that snake knew about this._

"Someone hid that in this drawer, I think it's just a draft. Blackmail material, maybe." Parker cocked his head up at the shocktrooper. "That's your old man, right Pres?"

Freesia blinked, reading the document again. Somehow she'd missed the name 'Ambassador Preston', but, from the frozen, wide-eyed stare on Preston's face, he clearly hadn't. "Ambassador?" she asked. "That's your…?"

His lips parted, drawing an inaudible gasp. "…dad?" he whispered; the notebook falling slack to his side was easier to hear. "What in the Hel…"

The dancer offered the letter to Preston, who haltingly accepted it. The sheet trembled, its printing slightly faded and smudged from age and neglect. Nonetheless, it was clear enough to prove what they had guessed earlier: both Gallia and the Federation had built the vault, conspiring together to conceal something inside it.

How the ambassador was involved was another matter, inviting a whole new set of questions. "We're digging up old dirt here" said Parker, a warning too late in coming. "They're not gonna let us go. Should probably have the other bottle, might be our last."

"Preston?" Freesia nervously called to the shocktrooper. She had only seen him appear surprised twice, recovering quickly in both cases: when the two teams had crossed paths, and later during the battle at the town hall. She knew little about him other than the tidbits he'd volunteered, but the look of genuine shock on his face was itself startling.

To her relief, it soon vanished. He closed his eyes, shook his head as the pragmatist within fought for control. "I'll… deal with that later," he mumbled, handing the letter back to Freesia and pocketing his notebook again. "We're getting you out of here. Come on, Ballard's right outside."

Parker grudgingly cooperated in standing up, tugging an arm free after Preston pulled him to his feet. "So who else made it, then? Is the rearguard with you?"

Preston blinked, letting go of the corporal and backing off. "Rearguard? What are you talking about?" he asked, confused.

Though distracted by the conversation, Freesia's trained awareness soon returned to her, and not a moment too soon. Faint footsteps carried through the thin office walls facing the outside, too many footsteps.

"The extra guys at the town hall. You know, Ballard asked for three more to watch the square, cover the retreat and all?"

The simple words and innocent tone provided ample ground for a sense of foreboding. Numbers twisted and danced through Freesia's darkening thoughts, chipping at what remained of her composure: about twenty Foxtrot survivors, eight with Ellie, a half-dozen with Parker. While a C student at math, she could still count, and that left the five or so that had attacked them.

"Ballard said two men at the meeting," Preston said, his eyes shifting back to the door. Unconsciously, one of his hands balled into a fist. "He gave that order? You're sure?"

"Yeah, he said it was a last minute change. Why, what happened to them?"

More footsteps, followed by agitated chatter from outside the office; shouts that sounded an awful lot like "Drop your weapons!"

Freesia couldn't believe it. It was happening once more. Circumstances beyond her control, a situation that felt made for someone else; someone more professional, someone meant to wear the uniform. Her mind and pulse raced, the whole world seeming to tremble. She had a single thought to spare for why the captain hadn't joined them just now, and the answer seemed to be filling the warehouse as they spoke.

"No way," she said, her voice strained as she stumbled away from the desk. "This can't be…!"

She stole a glance through the office door, her blood running cold as her fears were confirmed. Her companions were no longer by themselves, instead now surrounded by menacing men in dark camouflage. The commandos quickly spread across the warehouse floor, covering every entry and exit point with smooth, military precision. Those nearest to the doorway pointed their weapons at it, as if well aware of who was inside.

"You, in the office! Come out now, hands in the air!"

* * *

><p>Preston's voice carried through the open door. "We're fine! It's corporal Parker, he's alive!"<p>

Juno released her held breath. "Thank goodness someone made it," she said.

Turning away from the office, Ballard slowly stepped towards the nearest body. He knelt down and placed a hand on the fallen commando's face, drawing the eyes closed and signing something in the air.

"Never derelict in duty," he muttered to himself, clutching his other hand close to his chest. "I should never have let them do this."

"You couldn't have known at the time," said Juno. It felt wrong to console him with her countrymen dead at her feet, but she knew it was more complicated than that.

"Should we check on them? He might know what happened," Oscar suggested, somewhat puzzled that the captain hadn't immediately done so.

Ballard let out a deep sigh of his own as he stood back up. "Preston can handle it. I'm afraid we have less time than I anticipated. These Gallians were likely an advance team, waiting for Garity to open the vault before moving the rest of their forces."

"I'm surprised they're not here now," said Alex.

"They'd be coming from the same direction we did," Juno reminded him. "The town's a mess to get through. They might be circling around."

Looking over the bodies again, Ballard didn't see the one he had hoped to find. "Garity isn't among them. She may have retreated to warn Damon."

Oscar indicated the ramp with his rifle. "Or gone below."

"So what now?" Alex asked. "Do we just button the place up and drive off, or do we go in looking for her?"

Ballard was quiet for a few long seconds. He hung his head, mouthing an unspoken curse. When he finally faced the Gallians, conflict covered his face again, though there was steel to his eyes and his hands were tightly wrapped around his submachine gun.

"Miss Coren, apologies won't be enough this time," he said firmly. "We've done too much harm here. I failed your people and mine. And yet… our mission remains, and my hand is forced."

Juno's brow knit itself in suspicion. Something about his sudden shift in posture had her worried, and his finger near the trigger guard wasn't helping. "What do you mean?" she asked warily.

"There is more I did not tell you. I had… hoped to do this cleanly."

Alex's ears picked up something from outside, the repetitive scuffing of boots hitting gravel. "You gotta be kidding me," he muttered, panic creeping into him.

The regret gradually drained from Ballard's face, his features hardening as they had when the teams first met. "I had suggested you escape, that you leave this madness to us. Were I stronger, I would have forced you to."

Oscar and Alex reacted as one, holding the captain at gunpoint. "What the Hel is going on!" Alex demanded.

Ballard didn't even flinch. "This was not meant for you to know. Please, put those down," he urged. "You may yet be spared."

The intruders were on them in seconds, a stream of well-armed camouflage that swept through the open door. Shouts of "Drop your weapons!" and "Down on the floor!" pelted the militia team unceasingly as special forces raced into the building. Even as Juno's fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, several of them already had her covered from behind, and she restrained the urge to go for her weapon.

"No shooting!" Ballard ordered, defying the raised barrels of Alex and Oscar. "These people aren't responsible. There are three more in the office, and our engineer's in a militia truck outside. Secure them alive."

"Juno!" Oscar cried, begging for direction. At least five masked soldiers were pointing guns at him. His trembling sniper rifle and its single shot was no match for them, especially up close.

In seconds, everything had changed. Juno didn't have time to grasp it, and her head throbbed painfully in the attempt. There were at least two dozen commandos, reinforcements for her former allies, for which her team couldn't have been less prepared. Out the corner of her eye, she saw more of them surrounding the office, shouting at Freesia and Preston to show themselves.

Shocked but compliant, Juno glared at Ballard as she slowly bent down and let her rifle fall. It gave a brief, defeated clatter on impact, and Alex and Oscar reluctantly followed her lead.

"We surrender."


	15. Under Pressure

**Things Left Behind**

A Valkyria Chronicles fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun

_Notes: Hey, everybody! Yeah, I'm still alive; got hung up on a few real-life things and struggled a lot with this chapter. As opposed to previous chapters, this time I knew what I wanted to happen – namely, getting certain people separated from the group again – but had a hell of a time keeping it from feeling contrived, given the circumstances. In the future I definitely need to plot these more carefully ahead of time, but what are you gonna do?_

_That aside, another concern was keeping the setting chaotic and unpredictable, to offset the fact that said certain people (seemingly) got out alive; the questions at this point are 'how' and 'why', not 'who'. Squad 7 is also figuratively and literally in the dark, not to mention running out of gas. Hopefully the action isn't too unfocused as a result. As usual, any comments or suggestions would be most welcome._

_Let's get down on it!_

* * *

><p><strong>Under Pressure<strong>

Mission time: +4:55 hours, 04:03

* * *

><p>"<em>Following the battle at the town hall, the army's official report on the Rhodall incident states only that Charlie Company, which had been on standby to assist Squad 7, recovered the recon team at site D-02. It does indicate that individual units of the "unidentified third party" appeared to have turned on each other, but makes no effort to explain why, or what role the team played in the altercation.<em>

_Thus it falls to those individual testimonies to shed light on what happened. Up to D-02, the team's testimonies are largely congruent. The pursuit of Captain Ballard had revealed that Lieutenant Garity, his subordinate, had been seemingly working in concert with Gallian units to secure the Vault. Upon arriving at the warehouse, it was learned that Ballard had a similar mission – and that Squad 7 was now an obstacle to its completion._

_The events that followed are where the stories begin to diverge."_

_- Irene Koller, "On the Gallian Front"_

* * *

><p>Obedience to the captain was immediate. A few dozen commandos now covered the exits and kept the scouts at bay, with a smaller group securing the ramp into the vault below. All were masked, and the three guarding Juno stared challengingly, waiting for her to make a move. Preston and Freesia had been quickly disarmed and separated as they exited the office, with the commandos showing no courtesy to their own. The inebriated corporal Parker had practically been dragged out, limp and barely responsive as one of his fellows interrogated him.<p>

"Lieutenant Garity has betrayed us," said Ballard to one of the commandos. "Her unit killed Major Dawes, and Gallian reinforcements are likely on the way. We're short on time, but the mission stands. Signal the trucks. I want two down there on the double, the rest park up here until they're loaded."

Boots snapped together, paired with a crisp salute. "Yes, sir!"

Freesia was rudely shoved into place with her colleagues. "He was lying to us," the dancer said breathlessly. "Those were his men at the town hall."

Juno glared at the Federation officer, blocking out the weapons pointed at her. "Was it all an act? All this time, you just wanted it for yourselves?"

No response; another soldier cut in, paying her no mind. "Captain, Corporal Parker claims that Garity got the vault open before being forced out. Preston seems to know something, but he's not talking."

The captain glanced at the young shocktrooper, who had dropped to his knees and was now staring blankly at the floor. "We'll debrief them later," he said. "Team One, you're on point for the Vault. DeStefano, you're on ragnitro and demo charges. Everyone else, maintain the perimeter and be ready to move."

Juno's lips curled back in an angry snarl, and even she was surprised by her tone. "Damn it, we saved you! _Answer me!_"

That stopped Ballard in his tracks. Slowly, smoothly, he disengaged from his men and approached the scout, carefully holding his weapon off to the side. "Do you love your country, Miss Coren?"

"Of course we do!" Alex yelled, backing up his leader. "What does that have to do with you stealing from us?"

The captain didn't flinch, ignoring the dozen or so men that rushed past him down the ramp. "Would you sacrifice for them?"

"We're soldiers," Juno began. "Of course we-"

"What if your life wasn't enough?"

The strangeness of the question chipped at her anger, allowing exhaustion and confusion to begin taking over. "I don't… I don't understand. Why are you doing this?"

"What if your country needed your worst?" he asked rhetorically, a vague emptiness haunting his eyes. "What if your country asked you to betray yourself? What if your commanders asked you to do something wrong, something you personally disagreed with, to save lives?"

The very nature of the question spoke of doubts, however there was nothing in his steady, commanding voice and controlled movements to suggest hesitation. The captain appeared as a grim caricature of the person she had come to know, and yet little had actually changed; posture upright, jaw set, mouth pressed in a stern, emotionless line. This was loyalty taken to its logical extreme – the career soldier who would do anything if ordered – and no inner conflict would be enough to stay his hand.

Again, he pressed the question. "If your Lieutenant Gunther asked you to go against your own ethics, perhaps to win your upcoming battle, and there was no other way, would you… _could_ you follow that order?"

The words hit right where she was weakest, and her stomach roiled at the thought. She knew, or rather believed, that Welkin would do no such thing, but there was enough doubt for her logical side to put the idea under the knife. Naggiar may as well have been years away, but its uncertainties loomed large around them. The Empire had amassed enough manpower and firepower to make Rhodall look like the milk run it was supposed to be, and who knew what would happen once the first round was fired.

Juno looked around at her colleagues, searching for support. Only Alex stood firm, with the others seeming to genuinely ponder those dangerous, unthinkable words: _What if?_

"But… after all we did for you…" Oscar started weakly. Still in shock, he hadn't quite grasped that their rescue effort no longer mattered, and he shrank as the captain turned towards him.

Ballard coolly minded the carnage as he approached the sniper, Federation and Gallian corpses reduced to tripping hazards as commandos scurried about. "I am not blind to what happened. We would very likely be dead if you hadn't intervened, and I cannot explain why my people attacked you. They were to destroy evidence, but they were under orders to avoid you. As these men were."

"Like Hel they were! You were going to wipe us all out!" Alex challenged him, spirited and unbroken. "You acted surprised at the hospital, but you were just waiting for the right moment!"

"No, Mr. Raymond. Judge me if you will, hate me if you must. Monsters are easy for that sort of thing." The words and tone were at odds, a simile delivered clinically. "But I have no intention of killing you. Refrain from interfering, and it will stay that way."

The faint growl of engines grew louder as headlights spilled in from the yard. Before long, unmarked armored trucks rolled through the entrance one by one, soldiers scattering to allow their passage. As directed, the first two headed straight down, followed by a handful of soldiers on foot, while the remaining four trucks parked on opposite sides of the ramp. Few paid any heed as another shouting individual was also dragged into the warehouse, both arms restrained despite his best efforts.

Kiril flailed his head around wildly, searching for a punchline to a joke that didn't exist. "Captain! Captain, tell these guys…!"

"Calm yourself, Corporal," Ballard answered, sidestepping around a commando directing traffic. "I'm afraid you've stumbled on a very delicate operation. Your job here is done, and you need only stand down."

"What are you talking about? Let go of me!" Panic stitched his brow as the bewildered engineer sought a friendly face, his short hair tousled in the struggle. "Preston! Juno!"

"Kiril, we're here!" Freesia shouted to him. "He set us up at the town hall! They've been after the gold the whole time!"

The Darcsen's resistance died alongside his verbal protest. His mouth lay open, his eyes wide and locked on an officer he could no longer recognize. "Captain," he whispered under a breath strained by contempt and disbelief.

Ballard worked his way towards the stunned engineer, laying a firm hand on his shoulder. "I don't expect you to believe me, but those men were not there for you. You'll be debriefed in time, and we will find out what happened."

"How… how could you…" Kiril began, trembling and incredulous, his voice rising in anger. "You lied to us, you had men in reserve this whole time… why didn't you call them when we _needed_ it!"

"Because even in war, nothing is free. We need money son, and we're all expendable."

Kiril's face turned scarlet, tears welling up in his eyes. "How many did we lose… all so you could steal…"

Ballard let out a long, heavy sigh, letting his arm fall free from the Darcsen. "Too many. Always too many."

With a brisk order, the captain had Kiril pushed over to join the Gallians, corralled by at least half a dozen soldiers. Preston and Parker soon followed, the latter still seemingly in a daze and the former barely acknowledging the effort. Straining her ears, Freesia could just make out Ballard's hushed words to the young shocktrooper: "You of all people should understand this."

"That doesn't make it right, sir," Preston mumbled, his head low.

Ballard was unmoved. "Whatever happens, stick to the plan!" he shouted to the rest of his men. "We'll be up shortly, but if the Gallians show up in force, send a runner and break off. We'll meet at the rendezvous point."

With the captives gathered, he turned away and strode purposefully towards the ramp, following the trucks down the concrete gullet. More men followed, leaving perhaps twenty to cover the warehouse.

A dreadful pall settled over the scene, with little to break the silence except hushed chatter between patrolling commandos. Occasionally, one of them made fleeting eye contact with their captives, but closer attention was paid to arms and legs, waiting for one false movement. A mechanical rumbling carried up the ramp, growing deeper as the source descended into the earth – into the complex beneath them.

"What do we do now?" Alex asked, his voice barely a hiss as he tried to escape his guard's notice.

Not for the first time that night, Juno was lost for words. Her shoulders sagged as she absorbed the defeat, and the taste of despair that came with it. "I don't know," she finally admitted with a slight shake of her head. "I don't know what to do."

The confession took most of the wind out of Alex's sails. Impulsive behavior was his specialty, but it was useless here. He knew they needed a plan. He strained his ears to listen in on the enemy, but heard nothing helpful; merely a comment about a team missing their radio check-in.

Freesia searched her other colleagues for a sign of hope, a spark of an idea. Oscar was speechless and hunched, meekly trying to avoid drawing attention. Kiril was similarly struck dumb, his clenched fists and grinding teeth speaking of impotent rage. Parker leaned limply against a stack of pallets, barely staying on his feet.

Apart from Alex, only Preston remained fully upright and alert. She was about to turn her gaze elsewhere when she heard him gasp faintly. He discreetly glanced at the warehouse's key features – the ramp, the office, the entrance – and Freesia got the impression he wasn't spotting for targets.

"Son of a bitch." He did little more than mouth the words. "That's it."

"What is it?" she cautiously asked, mindful of their captors.

One of the guards looked their way for a moment, preventing an immediate response. When the attention wandered, Preston surreptitiously leaned in close to her. "I think I know why my old man was here. It's about the gold."

The dancer recalled the exchange in the office; Preston's shock at seeing his father's name on the recovered letter. She had almost forgotten it was still on her, stuffed hastily in one of her uniform pockets. The commandos had taken her weapons – even the knife she had never learned how to use – but ignored everything else.

"What about him?" she asked, torn between simple curiosity and hope that this was going somewhere.

"He worked on history stuff." Preston's words were short, quiet, urgent. "_Sensitive_ stuff. It's a long story, but there's more to this than money."

While she had read a book or two over the years, Freesia had never considered herself much of an intellectual. Street smart perhaps, but she left the heavy mental lifting to more practiced heads. Nonetheless, she was nothing if not observant, and she could sense a missing, vital piece of the puzzle sliding into place. Parker's mention of 'digging up old dirt' came back to mind, presenting a question that had been there the whole time, lingering over every spent bullet and fallen soldier.

_Why bury gold?_

Even as she posed the question mentally, a part of her knew the answer. The shocktrooper's hushed follow-up told her had reached the same conclusion. "You only hide money if you can't spend it. Something about the gold makes it priceless… or worthless."

"Or dangerous," she added. Another glance by a guard brought her back to the present, and she waited until he turned away to continue. "So how does this help us?"

"It doesn't, yet. But there can't be enough trucks for all that gold, and Ballard took bombs down to the Vault. There's gotta be something else down there. If we can get free…"

"Possible movement on the perimeter! Douse those lights!"

The shout startled everyone, prompting a flurry of activity as soldiers took defensive positions. Loud electrical clicks echoed through the warehouse as the lights were shut off. The guards gave each other questioning looks, as if waiting for instructions on what to do with their charges. When none came, one of them simply motioned to the floor, urging Juno and company to lie face down.

"Lost contact! Check those trucks outside!"

Alex hardly needed the reminder of their predicament. He rolled his head to one side, grimacing through a faceful of grit. "_Now_ what?"

Juno swallowed to clear her throat, finding some of her composure again. "It might be our people. Be ready to move."

"Move where?" Oscar whispered, squinting through the entrance. He struggled to see even the yard's static features, things he knew were there.

"Anywhere. Just get to cover."

A minute passed in agonizing silence, dragged out by the racing pulses of guard and captive alike. The commandos shifted uneasily in the darkness, waiting for sentries to call out targets. From where she lay, Freesia could see even less than her friends, but a creeping sense of foreboding and imminence was in the air. With every second the feeling grew; the vague sense that something was about to happen, and was merely waiting for the right moment.

One of the troopers covering the entrance reeled back sharply, grunting as if struck by some unseen blow. A thick, dark mist exploded out behind him, taking a portion of something vital with it. The noise of the impact rivaled the actual gunshot, which rang out from some far-off, expertly aimed sniper rifle.

The body hadn't finished falling as the first cries of alarm went out. More shots followed, careful and precise, as everyone scattered away from the opening. Another trooper took a fatal hit as his comrades returned fire, attempting to pin down a shooter they couldn't see.

"Angle's on our one-two! Suppressing fire!"

"I saw two flashes, confirm multiple hostiles!"

"Watch for flanking, I want eyes on the rear door!"

Oscar flinched at each shot, debating whether to root for the unseen attackers or worry about being the next target. He noticed a few troopers share hand signals, and the men closest to him peeled off to stack up before the yard. Only three had been left to cover the seven captives, though their exact predicament – weaponless and lying on the floor – still left little opportunity for escape.

That made the next shots, startlingly close, all the more surprising. Freesia watched, stunned, as their remaining guards were taken down with well-placed rifle fire, too far from the entrance to be the snipers outside. The dancer had been aware of footsteps on the catwalk above, but it took a woman's bellowed command to fully drive the point home.

"Duck and cover, guys!"

The heavy _fwooosh_ of a lance being fired turned a few heads, to say nothing of the column of smoke that jetted through the darkness. With a brief but deafening bang the shell found its mark at the entrance, catching an unfortunate pair of commandos in its blast. Another four men reeled, spun, staggered as unseen shrapnel tore easily through armor and flesh. Concussive force took its turn on whatever was left, scattering the shadows – and least one of their arms – in different directions.

Juno wasn't alone in cringing and averting her eyes. More explosions followed it, and through her eyelids she was aware of bright bursts of light; the noise, even louder than normal grenades, as if designed that way.

Above the din, another shout was barely heard. "Heads up, princess!"

Freesia rolled onto her side to look up at their saviors; three of them, by a quick count. She could see the scarlet hair of the soldier leading them, but the bandage over the right eye was a better clue. "Ellie?!"

"It's not over yet!" Sgt. Salvatore called down from the catwalk, digging a pistol out from a hip holster and tossing it over the railing. "Get up and fight!"

Freesia nearly fumbled trying to catch the sidearm, but quickly found a confident grip. Still somewhat shaken, she nodded up to the injured lancer and started to push herself off the floor. Around her, the others sprung to life; Alex was next to get his hands on a weapon.

"Ell!" Kiril cried, his anger replaced by barely-contained joy. "Holy shit, how'd you find us?!"

"They came after us too, I'll explain later!" she said between the shots of her allies. "Shoot anyone on the floor, leave the topside to us!"

Juno scrambled for cover behind several pallets, snatching up the rifle of one of her guards. When she felt she was no longer exposed, she cupped a hand around her mouth and yelled up to the lancer. "Sergeant, they're using the trucks to load the gold! Take 'em out!"

"Understood, keep clear!" Ellie reached back and unhooked another shell. With only one eye she struggled slightly to load the lance, but seemed to have no trouble bracing or firing it.

Panic broke out amongst the remaining commandos, realizing they were now under attack from within. Shots echoed from and to all directions, with the snipers outside still picking off targets near the entrance. As Juno took aim, she knew the bedlam cut both ways: her unit was scattered, she was using an unknown rifle – the barrel was cold, but it definitely wasn't hers – and there were no clear goals besides 'shoot the other people' and 'get out alive.'

The weapon, at least, still fired. One more hostile down, several to go.

Another shell streaked across the warehouse, drilling into the driver-side door of one truck and pulverizing the cabin with a thunderous boom. By some miracle the fuel tank stayed intact, but what was left of the engine spat up a sickly stream of oily smoke. A pair of troopers had scattered from the blast, only to fall into Alex's sights.

"Watch the trucks guys, they're using 'em for cover!" the shocktrooper shouted after firing, barely able to hear himself over the ringing in his ears.

"Got a man down! I need some help!"

Oscar was the closest, and least deafened, to respond to Kiril. He darted across the deadly gap between them, trying to ignore the bullet hole in the crate he was scrambling to. The sniper slid to a stop behind the Darcsen engineer and saw the problem right away.

Almost within arm's reach of them, Corporal Parker lay painfully on his side; one hand clutching a pistol, the other the hole in his stomach. He was still breathing through clenched teeth, and to his credit wasn't howling in pain, but he was clearly in no condition to move.

"Gotta stop Ballard," he grunted, face contorted as he tried to speak. "Not the only…"

"I got him, just cover me!" Kiril shouted.

Oscar wasn't even sure what to aim at. Flickers of movement and gunfire jumped at him, barely visible in the faint light from the outside. As if to aid him, another of Ellie's lance shells nailed the second truck. The explosion touched off a small but helpful fire, and he just caught sight of a raised rifle on the far side of the ramp. A quick, smooth squeeze and it went back down, its owner either wounded or sensible.

Freesia soon joined them, taking potshots across the warehouse. Likewise, Preston offered support from the right, giving Kiril room to make his move. The engineer strained and struggled to move his larger, injured comrade, and Parker hissed as punctured flesh was disturbed. Grudgingly he pushed out with his legs, almost getting to his feet as Kiril dragged him to safety.

Parker doubled over as he hit the ground in cover, still grasping his wound. "Aagh! Forget it, it's too late…"

"Easy man, we've got you!" Kiril dug out his ragnaid dispenser and tried to push past the corporal's guarding hand. "Deep breaths, you're gonna make it!"

"Dammit, listen to me! There's another way out!"

Someone cried out from above, all too briefly. A friendly silhouette tumbled over the railing, dropping his weapon and landing almost headfirst on the floor. If the commando had survived the gunshot to his chest, he wasn't getting up from the fall.

Ellie's voice didn't waver. "Keep the pressure on 'em! Preston, you're clear on the right! Sweep forward!"

"Roger, moving up!"

Shots from outside drew nearer; Ellie's sniper support closing in and entering the fray proper. The shock of surprise attack gave way to the numbing procedure of a steady advance. With deep breaths, Freesia fought through the creeping haze of adrenaline, and she retained enough sense to drop low after _feeling_ a near-miss over her head.

She nearly jumped back up as a rough, unsteady hand gripped her arm, and she found its owner staring up at her. Despite being gut shot, Parker's eyes were clear, his brow furrowed in purpose. "Ballard," he groaned as Kiril treated him. "There's an emergency exit… you have to stop him."

"Parker, hold still!" The engineer's command went unheeded. "I need to bind this up."

"They're after something else… nngh, not just the gold. They can't get away…"

The dancer shrugged off his feeble grasp, but had more trouble ignoring his words. She sprung up and snapped off another round, narrowly missing an enemy. Yet even the rush of combat, of being shot at without result, couldn't fully arrest her suspicions. Some part of her was still putting the pieces together, and it didn't like what it was seeing.

A pained gasp from her left was a more successful distraction. She turned as Oscar hit the ground with a very visible gash of crimson across his arm. The crate he'd been using for cover bore a fresh hole, still trickling splinters.

Freesia quickly dropped low to aid him. She patted a few pockets in search of first aid, but turned up nothing; her device, perhaps lost in the shuffle. Her face went pale, and from the blood seeping into the sniper's shirt sleeve he was headed there himself. "Oscar's down! I need ragnaid!"

"I'm on it!" answered Juno, daring to break cover. In a single swift move she went from scout to doctor, swapping a gun for a dispenser as she reached the sniper.

Alex's voice easily stood out, even from a distance. "Enemy spotted! He's in the office!" Moving swiftly, the Bird passed the wrecked trucks, linking up with the sharpshooters from outside.

Ellie was even harder to miss. "Fargo, Stanley, you heard him! Squad up and take 'em out!"

"It's all right, you're gonna be all right," said Juno, almost on reflex as she searched for the Oscar's wound. Dark, sticky fibers of uniform clung to the bloody hole, though to her relief it appeared superficial on a closer look; a crossing blow that drew blood but took little more than skin with it.

Oscar trembled and gulped past a lump in his throat, fighting back tears. He took some solace in the fact that his arm was healthy enough to report the pain. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he panted, squeezing and relaxing his hand to be sure.

The shooting tapered off as the advance hit its logical endpoint, with soldiers above and below sweeping for survivors. The first all-clear was timid, hesitant; a friendly on the catwalk overlooking the far side of the warehouse. Footsteps clanged noisily down a flight of stairs as Ellie left her position, joining with her compatriots on the ground.

Still tending to Parker, Kiril was first to comment. "Ell, that was magic," he said, tempted to smile in spite of the stress. "You all right?"

The one-eyed commando fell to one knee next to Parker, carefully setting down her empty lance. "We lost one, but I think we'll make it. I'm out of shells, though. You guys okay?"

"Oscar's just a scratch, he'll be all right," said Juno.

"Parker's stabilized, but he's lost a lot of blood. We'll have to carry him out of here." Kiril turned to Freesia. "Hey, you heard what he said, right? Something about an emergency exit?"

She nodded, taking the moment to think clearly. "Yeah, there's something not right here. Why would he…"

"Contact, by the ramp! He's running!" came the shout from Alex.

A shadow had slithered out from beneath one of the intact trucks, and only a few saw him disappear down the gullet of the ramp, a half-step ahead of a pursuing rifle bullet. Before anyone could give chase, the piercing squeal of metal on metal came up from the ramp, filling the air and drawing the eyes.

Freesia noticed it first: the solid, rusted teeth of a sideways gate, slowly sliding out of previously unnoticed slots in the ramp walls. The old mechanism creaked and complained, but did its duty – slowly but surely, the ramp began to seal itself up.

"That thing can close!" one soldier yelled in disbelief.

"This panel's shot!" said someone in the office. "He's closing it from the inside!"

"Someone get down there and stop him!"

Things snapped into place, lightning-quick judgments about who was doing what, and who _had_ to do what. Details painted the picture in frightening colors, and in barely a second, some base, instinctual part of her understood the situation: Juno, busy with Oscar; Kiril, handling Parker; Ellie, helping him; the too-few trucks; the emergency exit below; the destruction of evidence. It all pointed to one course of action, the very thing she hated and feared the most.

Once more, Barious wasn't far from her mind.

As if selected by some unseen hand, Freesia broke into a full-throttle run for the closing gap. Her mind was firing on all its pessimistic cylinders, alternating between calling herself an idiot and listing the number of ways this could go wrong. With one step she recalled her suicide run for the Batomys' last engine, dodging fire from the Valkyria's lance; almost literal fire, as she understood it. With the next she remembered the flag tank from the square, more grounded in its danger but no less life-threatening.

Somehow, it kept coming down to her. She hated it, and hated herself – just a little – for hating it.

Reaching the edge, Freesia leaped off and braced for the angled drop, her ears pounded by the noise all the while. Boots fell one at a time on the sloped surface, and she wobbled as she fought for balance. The dancer shortly righted herself, just in time to flinch from a muzzle flash within feet of her landing.

The commando had his machine gun raised, though not at her. She brought her rifle to bear, and the motion finally tipped him off. It was too late; one good squeeze put a round clear into his chest, easily defying his armor at short range.

He stumbled back on his heels, fatally struck and his weapon beating him to the ground. Freesia pulled the trigger again to finish the job, but heard only the heart-stopping click of a hammer striking nothing. Immediately she remembered the pistol, and she all but threw the rifle down to free her hands. The dancer trained Ellie's gift on the fallen soldier, only to be beaten to the punch by a hard burst of gunfire from her right.

With the commando down, it was Freesia's turn to suddenly notice someone. Pulse pounding, she whirled barrel-first towards the newcomer, seeing the dark outfit before recognizing who he had fired at.

"York, don't shoot! It's me!"

Freesia blinked, catching her breath and slowly winding back down. "Preston?"

The auburn-haired shocktrooper lowered his smoking gun, holding one hand out in deference. "Sorry, jumped in right after you," he said, also winded. "You good?"

Aware they could hear themselves now, both looked up to see the ramp entrance had closed tightly above them. A nearby pop and hiss came from the wall where the trooper had been shooting, and Freesia knew, too late, what it was.

The control panel had been decorated with fresh bullet holes and coughed sparks at the floor, its lever stuck in the 'closed' position. Through the door above, nothing could be heard; from down the tunnel, a deeper silence to go with the sickly yellow lighting.

"You would not believe the day I'm having."


	16. Better to Forget

**Things Left Behind**

A Valkyria Chronicles fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun

_Notes: Freesia was an early favorite of mine, and she proved surprisingly useful even when Under Pressure kicked in. Obviously she wasn't a plot-critical character, but I liked to imagine there was more to her under the hood, and she had to work harder to keep up appearances as things got progressively more real. Likewise for the more prominent Irene, who I mentioned waaay back in Interlude had noticeable differences between narration and her in-game behavior._

_For both women I wanted to maintain their character quirks while touching on the more complex personality aspects, and I hope that came across as intended. I originally planned this scene somewhere indoors – possibly just after Freesia finished up a show – but felt that a conversation about sensitive topics required somewhere more secluded, with fewer people that Freesia knows around to listen._

_With all that said, read on, enjoy, and happy holidays everybody!_

* * *

><p><strong>Better to Forget<strong>

April 16, 1936 – Eight months after the Rhodall Incident

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><p>"<em>Before we get to the Vault, I have to ask. If the army covered all this up, how am I supposed to help? Even if I remember something, no judge in the world would take my word at face value."<em>

"_Freesia, the scout you went in with, claims you know something that can prove you got inside – and, even better, can get us back in. She thinks this package might help jog your memory, but we'll go over her statements first. If I'm right, and I've been right so far, then nobody could've gotten into the Vault since, so any evidence left down there is still intact."_

"_All right. But this scout, Freesia… you said she left the militia after the war, went back to being a dancer, right? If her superiors didn't believe it then, why bring it up now? Why go to all this trouble?"_

"_What did you say?"_

"_I'm sorry Mrs. Koller, I didn't mean to sound ungrateful, it's just-"_

"_No, no, I'm not offended. But… when did I tell you she was a dancer?"_

"_Didn't you?"_

_- Recorded excerpt of interview, PFC Lloyd Preston (discharged)_

* * *

><p>Irene chuckled at the sight.<p>

A lunch hour at a public park was hardly ideal for an interview, but it was the only option available with their schedules. Fortunately, the day showed no intention of interfering, content to offer a merry sunshine and a welcome breeze. Irene had managed to grab a bench well off the winding footpath: a rare quiet spot next to a small pond, with a pair of ducks lazily paddling across. The reporter saw no one close enough to listen, and was confident and she would draw no attention from passersby.

Freesia York, the "Dancer of the Sands," would have been another story. Fortunately, she'd had the sense to dress down in public: plain blue button-down shirt; matching tan vest and trousers; fraying watch cap; total lack of jewelry. The atypical ensemble hid her figure well, if by instead giving her the appearance of an undersized, well-manicured dock worker in a city with no port. She nonchalantly approached the bench and smiled at the reporter, a small, neatly wrapped package nestled under one arm.

Irene tugged at the bill of her own cap in greeting. "Nice hat."

Freesia slid onto the bench, grateful to be off her aching legs. "You'd be amazed how hard it is to shop when everyone knows you. And I kinda liked not being followed for once, if you can believe that."

"Your little fan club keeps growing, huh?"

"Oh I don't mind the attention, it's just good to get some time alone. No crowd rushing you, nobody asking you about every little thing." She dropped to a sotto voice, rolling her eyes. "No sudden proposals…"

"Juno said there was some commotion a while ago. I take it you said no?" Irene asked.

"Oh, he was rich and all, but too plain-looking. Not my type."

"Isn't that a little shallow?"

Freesia smiled playfully. "I am a little shallow."

"Now that, I don't believe for a minute."

The dancer's lips curled into a proper grin, and the two women shared a quiet laugh. "Nah, I'm just not the settling-down type," Freesia admitted. "Never too comfortable sitting still; too much to see and do, y'know?"

"I can understand that," said Irene with a nod. "So other than that, how have you been?"

"Busy. It actually took me a while to get back into training." Freesia let out a soft, musical giggle. "My first show after the war, I ached more than my first day at boot camp."

"Didn't think you'd be pining for the good old days."

"You mean all of six months ago? Heh, I do miss the squad, but I wasn't sorry to see it end. How is Juno, by the way? We didn't get to talk much on the phone."

"She's doing well," the reporter said, leaning back and sliding her legs out. "She went back to school, studying microbiology. She tried to explain it, but all the medical mumbo-jumbo went right over my head."

"I know what you mean. Good for her though, she always had a head for that stuff."

Irene let out a murmur of agreement, and both women fell into silence. The pause was coupled with a cool breeze that sent ripples across the pond and drew shivers from the trees and grass. Freesia had been willing, almost eager to schedule the meeting, but now the smile faded fast from her lips. Irene had nearly all of the details, but the way forward remained elusive; a key puzzle piece that, she hoped, the dancer possessed.

"So," Freesia crossed her legs under the bench. "Juno said you'd spoken with the others. How much did they tell you?"

A brief glance at their surroundings reassured Irene that nobody was paying attention to them. "Everything they could remember. Is that thing what you talked about when I called?"

The dancer nodded, carefully placing the package in her lap; her grip firm, almost protective. "There's not enough in here to prove everything, but it's a start. I'm hoping it's enough."

"If you had this all the time, why didn't you tell anybody?"

"It took a long time to repair, and someone else needs it more."

"Who?"

Freesia drew in a deep breath, almost visibly searching for the right words. "A friend," she finally said. "Someone important to me."

Irene was tempted to quip, the implications practically writing her response for her. The dancer's hunched shoulders and wringing hands, however, spoke of genuine concern. Apart from mentioning the Federation survivor, Juno had said something about Freesia as well; something that suggested it was not affection, but empathy that drove her actions.

"One of their commandos got stuck down there with me," she explained. "His name's Lloyd Preston. It's a long shot, but if you're right about the Vault, then I think he can help."

The reporter dug out her notebook and flipped it open, unclipping the pen that served as a bookmark. "I checked with Cordelia's stewards. They've got their hands full across the country, and one of them told me they haven't even cleared the rubble at D-02 yet."

"So everything could still be down there."

"Unless someone got in there with some heavy equipment. The same person even put me in touch with someone at OSSRID, who seemed pretty sure that nobody's been there since."

One of the dancer's eyebrows jumped, hiding under the cap. "That's a neat trick."

"It pays to ask nicely. He admitted they covered up what evidence they could, but their numbers were decimated in the war. Their main office was in part of the castle struck by the Marmota, and most of their leadership had pulled back to the capitol for safety. As far as I can tell, they're still filling empty seats."

Freesia couldn't quite picture a humbled spy agency, though eight months ago she wouldn't have pictured a building-sized tank ramming the entire city. "Huh. So what else did they say?"

"I got confirmation they were working with Damon to secure the Vault, and that the Feds were there for the same reason. Of course, they can't openly confirm anything, and publicly they still stand by the report. But really, the only controversial bit is…"

"My part," Freesia finished, her eyes locked on the ground. "About what's down there."

"Juno told me what you told her. It's heavy stuff, and if I hadn't seen other bombshells with Squad 7 I'm not sure I'd believe it. I know a lot of people won't without proof, which apparently is still inside the Vault…"

"Which nobody will dig up without proof," said Freesia, following the circle back around.

"Not while half the country's being rebuilt. That's where this 'friend' of yours comes in. Alex said they didn't see anyone else get out. Assuming he did, are you sure he can back up your story?"

"Honestly, I don't even know if he's alive, but I don't think anyone else can. When we left, the Vault was shut again and the combo was changed. But he saw what it was changed to."

"So we're not getting in without this guy."

"Unless you've got another way in, yeah, finding Lloyd might be our best chance. Besides, he deserved better than what happened to him." Another deep breath; an almost unnoticed tremble in one hand. "I… think I saw a bit of myself in him."

Tempted to ask for details, Irene reluctantly steered her thoughts towards practical matters. The Federation covered a lot of real estate and guarded its secrets well, but her contacts – particularly a tenacious private investigator – would know where to start. "All right. I'll find him if he's findable. If his account matches yours, that should grease a few wheels and help me get a real investigation going."

"Finding him might be the easy part. He was in pretty rough shape the last time I saw him, and not just physically. We all went through a lot that night, but…"

"He was shellshocked?" Irene asked.

"Worse, I think. I never got the whole story, but it sounded like he'd been through a lot even before that night."

"So I'm looking for someone that may be dead, traumatized, or who knows." The reporter exhaled sharply, a bitter wisp of a laugh. "You weren't kidding about this being a long shot."

Freesia sat up straight, turning to face Irene. "You have to understand, we tried. We told Welkin and Varrot everything as soon as we got back to Naggiar. They believed a lot of what we said, but there wasn't any time to follow up on it; the rockets just came down that fast."

"You all got back just in time, then."

"And we were running on fumes. Afterward, there always seemed to be something more important going on, and Rhodall just got pushed aside. Alicia during the battle, then Ghirlandaio, then that crazy supertank." Freesia ticked off each item with a small, rolling gesture. "Just one thing after another, it made my head spin."

The reporter had been there too, and she didn't have to work hard to understand. "The war pushed a lot of things to the sidelines."

"I tried showing this to Varrot," said the dancer, tapping the package, "but it was a mess and we got interrupted by the battle. She told me to hang onto it and she'd check it out later, but it never came up again. Sort of got lost in my stuff. After the war, we all had lives to go back to, and we were all just glad it was over. It was… easier to forget. Or try to forget."

Irene nodded along but said nothing, jotting down notes as Freesia continued. "I finally found it when I was packing up to leave the squad. I was tempted to throw it away, but it didn't seem right. Then one day I just… started trying to piece it together. Guess I was just trying to make sense of it. It always felt too big for me, and I didn't even know what to do with it until Juno called up."

She balled one of her hands into a fist, mindful of her nails as they dug into her palm. "Seems like every time it falls to me, something goes wrong."

"What do you mean?" Irene asked, playing dumb. Juno had briefly explained the problem – and made the reporter swear to keep it under her hat – though there were still missing details.

Freesia tried to catch herself, her head bobbing uneasily to one side, but it was like plugging a leaky dam with just a finger. Even now she felt like the wrong person for this, and pressure constricted from all sides. There was no mortal danger this time, though the weight of responsibility was scarcely more welcome. However, too much truth had been bottled up, and she could feel other, related truths straining to get out; widening the cracks in her carefully constructed defenses.

She sighed deeply and gave up trying to stop the torrent, resigned to trading one burden for another. Her voice fell sharply, as if intended to be lost in the air around them. "The truth is… I broke. Not then, but earlier, during the battle at Barious. You know, when the, uh… when_ they _showed up."

"Selvaria and the Batomys."

The dancer nodded and swallowed uncomfortably. "I… was never sure I belonged in the militia. I'm not dumb, I know what the stakes were. Gallia is still home, even if I didn't want to stick around. But you hear enough people putting you down, just another pretty face that doesn't know which end of the rifle is which…"

Her eyes fell to the ground again, where one of her feet was tracing a tight, shaky circle. "Mostly in basic. A few from… further back. You know it's not true, but you hear it enough… you start thinking like it is."

Irene nodded in sympathy. "I heard you didn't have it easy growing up."

"Just another orphan in a country full of them. Or that's what I told myself."

"Sometimes thick skin is just hiding how much it really hurts," said the reporter, speaking from experience; school hadn't been much kinder to the scrawny kid with glasses that asked too many questions.

"Yeah. Anyway, Barious. The big tank, right?" Freesia waited for an attentive nod. "We had to climb it to take out the radiators. Then that general of theirs showed up, and everything went to Hel. Before I knew it, I was the only one still standing to run for the last radiator."

"I remember Welkin talking about that," said Irene. "Even he seemed surprised when you made a run for it."

"That's not me, you know. I can handle myself, sure, and I can work in a team, but when people are counting on me? I mean, _really_ counting on me? It just seems like something always goes wrong. I climbed up and dropped the grenade in, and then that Selvaria took a shot at me. I panicked, dodged, slipped and… fell. Hit the ground hard enough to break my arm."

Freesia clenched her hand shut again, bunching up the fabric of a trouser leg. "I didn't even feel it at first. When I finally did, I… I'd never been in that kind of pain before."

The reporter had stopped her note-taking. This was too personal to put to print. "What happened then?"

"The grenade did the trick, so Welkin started firing with the Edelweiss. I couldn't get up, I couldn't even cover my face or ears. Big metal chunks were falling in burning pieces around me. All the shooting was deafening, blinding, and it just kept coming."

Freesia gently shut her eyes, and she sniffed back a single tear. "I… just snapped. It was too much to handle. I yelled out for help, I cried, I-I screamed myself hoarse. Begged for it to stop. It went on and on, and I just couldn't take it. Don't know how long I was lying there, but it felt like hours."

Irene sat in silence as the former scout spilled her thoughts, purging herself of the pain inside. A single duck had waddled out of the pond and approached the women, but wisely chose another direction when it saw no breadcrumbs were coming.

"By some miracle we got everyone out, and by the time they found me, I was spent. They hadn't even heard me shouting from the noise. Didn't notice I'd been bawling like some… some little girl with skinned knees. So I played it off like it was fine. I asked if everyone else was okay, and bit my tongue while the medic put a brace on my arm."

"You put on a brave face," said Irene, trying to make it a compliment.

A shaky sigh signaled the end of Freesia's digression. "That's where I was that night at Rhodall, feeling like exactly the wrong person for the war. Feeling like some small, fragile little thing, like I could do my best and it wouldn't be nearly enough. I didn't think anyone would want to hear me complain, so I tried to keep a lid on it. Juno saw right through it, though."

Irene had guessed there was more to the seemingly carefree dancer than met the eye, and Juno had pointed her in a more precise direction. Even that fell short of the reality, of what happens to ordinary people swept up in extraordinary things. Time and again, Squad 7 had gone above and beyond what the uniform asked of them, individually and as a team. They'd fought off the Empire, smiled for the pictures, and let the upper ranks do the talking, but each of them walked away with scars; some harder to see than others.

_And they were the lucky ones,_ Irene thought, keeping her frown on the inside. "Did Juno ever say anything?"

Freesia straightened herself out, regaining some control over her voice. "She had some idea what happened. I think she understood better than most, she went through a few rough spots too. Said if I ever needed to talk, she'd hear me out. Just never felt like I could talk about it; like someone else always had it worse, and there was never a good time to vent. I got used to bottling it up… too used to it."

"Always something else to worry about, huh?"

"Yeah… that's how it is."

"Are you okay?"

"Getting there," Freesia said softly, clearing her throat. "Good days and bad days, y'know? Thanks for… hearing me out. It actually feels a little better, I think."

Irene smiled, with warmth she didn't know she had. "Anytime."

"Can I ask a silly question?"

"Shoot."

"How big are you into theater?"

The reporter's brow evacuated its seated position above her eyes. "File that under 'did not expect,'" she muttered. "Not much, I guess. What's up?"

Freesia gazed out across the pond, staring at nothing in particular. "You know 'The Root of All Evil?'"

The title was lost on Irene. "I know the expression. Love of money, right?"

"It's a tragic play written a while ago, a pretty famous one about a queen who loses her memory."

"Amnesia? That old chestnut?"

Freesia shrugged, leaning back against the bench. "I guess it's not cliché if you're the first one to try it."

"How does it go?"

"Well, the queen – the accident that took her memory also killed her family; her husband and her kids. So while she's recovering, she has to choose a successor, and all her advisors, the nobles, they're all trying to convince her it should be them. Some get desperate and start lying to her, hiding evidence, planning against each other, that kind of thing."

"Politics as usual," Irene remarked.

"Kind of. See, some of them actually are greedy or power hungry, while others just think they're doing the right thing. But all the while, nobody actually cares about helping her, and she starts to grow paranoid. In the climax of the play, she admits to herself that she doesn't trust any of them, and it drives her crazy."

"I have to admit, I didn't picture you as a patron the arts."

Freesia smiled, just faintly. "School play. I tried a few things before dancing really clicked for me. I've just been thinking lately, trying to figure out where I'm at with this, why I couldn't let it go."

Irene finally couldn't resist a playful jab. "Careful Freesia, you're starting to sound old on me."

The dancer squinted at her, light blue irises gleaming with good humor. "You take that back."

"Sorry, force of habit," Irene chuckled. "You were saying?"

"Anyway, near the end she seems to give up, believing she can't even trust herself because she has no idea who she used to be. One of her guards brings her a pistol, and she breaks into a soquil… uh, soliq…"

"Soliloquy?"

"Yeah, that. She's trying to sort it out in her head. She asks herself the arc line of the play, 'what are we that do not remember?' and then answers it by saying 'empty.' She picks up the gun but she can't go through with it, and at first she doesn't understand why. Then suddenly it clicks."

Freesia scratched behind her ear for a moment, the specifics evading her. "I forget the whole speech, but she wonders if she got it wrong; that a person is defined by how they're _remembered_ rather than what they remember. She finally voices her deepest doubts, thinking that maybe the corruption had been there before she lost her memory, or that the company she kept was her fault all along."

"So she blames herself?" Irene asked.

"I don't think it's ever made clear what happened. In any case, she gives the gun back to the guard, and he says something like, 'The sweetest dreams make for the cruelest mornings, but we must give the day our best, because the day after will ask no less.'"

"Hm. That line rings a bell."

Freesia nodded. "It's a call to keep trying, no matter how bleak it looks, or how scared you are. I try to understand why I did those things – why at Barious, why at Rhodall, why now – and I think… I have to know I did everything I could. That we didn't just give up because it got complicated."

It wasn't the first time Irene had heard the sentiment; a desire to believe that they had done their best, that pain both received and inflicted hadn't been for nothing. What surprised her was that Freesia was the one expressing it. _Even with the militia behind her, she needs to know_, the reporter thought. _She needs to believe that she did her best._

"Next time we go to war," Irene said quietly, "I'm interviewing you first. You can be awfully profound when you want to."

"I read sometimes," said Freesia, attempting to be modest. "Don't tell no one, though. There was a lot of downtime between shooting and teaching Walter to handle a nail file. I think he just chewed them or something."

The joke got a short laugh out of Irene, but her thoughts wandered back a few paces. "So what happens to her? The queen in the play?"

"Well… it wouldn't be much of a tragedy if it had a happy ending, would it?"

"I guess not. How about this story? Does it have a happy ending?"

Freesia smiled again, but this one seemed forced; a worried, uncomfortable thing on her lively, youthful face. "We'll see," she said, one of her nails flicking the package bindings.


	17. Cloak and Dagger

**Things Left Behind**

A Valkyria Chronicles fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun

_Notes: This was another fun chapter to write, and by fun I mean "how can I make things even more tense and convoluted even though it's clear they got out alive? Oh wait, did I use that expression already? Oh god, I'm repeating myself again. That sounds so cliché, delete the whole thing and start over." Et cetera, et cetera. Being a writer is suffering, fanfiction or otherwise._

_That aside, unlike other chapters there was no big alternate version this time. Instead the issue was a few interlocking details that don't change much in this chapter, but together radically change the finale – which we are very close to, I should add, so kindly bear with me just a bit longer. Suffice to say that making decisions is haaaaard, maaaaan._

_Anyway, have at it, folks!_

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><p><strong>Cloak and Dagger<br>**

Mission time: +5:10 hours, 04:18

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><p><em>"The Randgriz Incident provided a rare glimpse at Federation Special Forces in action. While the commandos displayed considerable tactical acumen, the majority of the unit was quickly overpowered, despite facing an unprepared Squad 7. The militia is to be commended for their superior mobilization and coordination, and though the Federation remains an unreliable neighbor, it is comforting to know that their covert operations can be mitigated.<em>

_However, the facts paint a disturbing picture. In particular, more than half of the bodies were between the ages of nineteen and twenty-five. Federation army enlistment begins at age eighteen, with a three year training regimen for potential commandos. It seems unlikely that the Federation would launch such an operation with untrained forces, yet the evidence suggests some of these soldiers were at most inexperienced if not fast-tracked for some reason._

_It warrants mention that the Gallian army can make similar exceptions, typically for those who already possess certain skills – or whose death or capture can be afforded."_

_- OSSRID dossier on Atlantic Federation Special Forces, Appendix C: Tactical Assessment_

* * *

><p>Juno stared tiredly at the ramp doors, flanked by both burning and intact armored trucks. The air was thick with gunpowder and spent ragnite, pulling a cough from her chest and forcing her to cover her mouth. Perhaps twenty minutes ago her team had been inspecting the previous gunfight between Federation and Gallian scouts; now they had added their own substantial contribution to the mess.<p>

Even as she struggled to come up with a plan, she felt spent and burned-out by how fast the situation had deteriorated. She hadn't fully recovered from the Imperial assault, let alone the hospital firefight, and could only begin to grasp that one of her own people – one of her friends – was now cut off, likely in mortal danger. And yet, Freesia was possibly the only thing standing between a treacherous captain and his escape; precisely the worst place in the world for her.

The scout leader turned away from the doors and coughed again. It wasn't the first time doubt had found a home in her mind, but it had never seemed so potent, so paralyzing. For a second she thought back to the hospital, to the decision she had made to accompany Ballard to the warehouse. The alternative was too late to consider, but not too late to instill second thoughts.

"Juno?"

She looked up as Alex neared, concern practically printed on his expressive face. The impulsive bird was long gone, leaving only a young soldier anxiously awaiting orders from someone in charge. "How's it look?"

Juno had made a cursory inspection of the doors, just long enough to confirm what she already suspected. Knocking almost felt pointless, though she had tried anyway. "It's old, but tight as a drum. I couldn't hear anything, and I don't think we're getting them open without explosives. What's the story with the controls?"

"It's no good, they're not working. Kiril's looking at it."

"What about Oscar?"

"He's shaken up, but he's on his feet. Him and Ellie are looking after Parker, and the others are looking for survivors." He leaned around her, taking his own look at the doors. "Can't believe Freesia went after that guy. What do we do now?"

Juno shook her head, trying to chase away unhelpful thoughts and stay focused. "Let's find Ellie, we need a plan."

"We can't just leave her down there!"

"We're not going to," she said firmly, an attempt to sound reassuring. "Come on. Maybe Parker can tell us where this emergency exit is."

The 'maybe' came out weaker than intended, but it was enough to get Alex in line. Together they crossed the warehouse floor, mindful of the death and debris underfoot. A nearby commando inspected a body, shaking his masked head grimly. Ahead, a pair of familiar faces knelt beside the prone form of Corporal Parker, carefully tending to his injuries.

"Come on, we need your help here. Stay with us." Ellie gently propped his head up, and was satisfied to see his eyes roll towards her. "Can you hear me? We're not out of this yet, don't pass out on me."

Juno cleared her throat, announcing her presence. "How's he doing?"

Oscar finished wrapping a bandage around Parker's stomach, his own injury numbed and staunched. The blood on his hands seemed to bother him more. "The bullet went all the way through. He's… he's breathing, but he needs a medic, and w-we're almost out of ragnaid."

"Did he say anything else about the exit?"

The lancer sighed. "Sounded like it's somewhere in the field, not attached to the building. Manhole, maybe; we didn't see anything on the way in. Where's Kiril?"

"Right here," called the Darcsen engineer, approaching the group with one of the commandos in tow. From the frown on Kiril's face, the news wasn't good. "The panel's dead. Internal wires are corroded and one of the fuses is blown. We're not getting those doors open from here."

"Then there's only one way in, we gotta find this thing," Alex said, though there was weariness in his voice. The night was at last catching up with him, too.

"I know, we can't leave them down there." Ellie glanced at Juno. "But some of these guys were already hurt. We're not in much shape to chase them, and who knows how long we have until your people get here."

With all the burning, clanking, and groaning about them, there was enough noise for the untrained ear to miss the faint, mechanical rumbling from outside the warehouse. Tired as he was, Alex was still the first to hear it. Right away he knew what it was, and he silently cursed himself for not noticing it earlier.

"We'll need to split up and search…" Juno stopped in midsentence as Alex abruptly glanced away, one hand going up flat. Within seconds she heard it too, and she didn't have to think hard about what was causing it.

"Engines," he said, anxiety settling in fast. "Lots of 'em."

One of the commandos shouted across the warehouse. "Sergeant, we've got incoming! Armored vehicles and a tank, closing fast! Looks like Gallian units!"

"Speak of the devil," muttered Ellie.

Parker suddenly coughed, straining uncomfortably on the ground. "Sergeant… you're out of time, just leave me. We're loose ends, she's going to kill us all."

Juno watched as Ellie gave brief, hasty orders; 'stand fast,' for lack of any obvious solution. The unknowns piled up with astonishing speed, colliding one after another in Juno's cramped and overworked brain. Chief among them was whether their supposed countrymen were in a talking mood – and, if so, who they were least likely to shoot on accident.

An idea took form, somehow slipping through the mess in her mind. Fighting back wasn't an option, and even if it were the warehouse was far easier to attack than defend; literal dozens of corpses attested as such. More palatable choices were nowhere in sight: there was nowhere to run, and hiding would only delay the inevitable.

Of all things, Alex's words – by proxy, the words of Belgen Gunther – came to mind: _'The right thing to do may not feel like it until you try to live with it.'_ The shocktrooper had mangled the exact phrasing, but the essence was still there.

"Sergeant, tell your people to slip out the back," Juno said, her steady voice at odds with her pounding heart. "I'm going out there."

Appropriately enough, Alex looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "What?! What if they're here to-"

"Then we're already dead," said Ellie, catching on quickly. She clenched her teeth. "Kiril, get Parker. We're leaving."

Juno nodded to her own subordinates. "Alex, Oscar, cover me."

"What… but we…" Oscar stammered, shocked to see someone other than Alex acting impulsively. He glanced questioningly at the shocktrooper, who could only answer him with a helpless shrug.

Kiril acted quickly, beckoning to another commando to help carry Parker. "But what about Preston?" he asked.

"Our dying isn't going to help him," said Ellie, though conflict was visible in her eyes. "We're moving out, people! On me, let's go!"

Within seconds the injured corporal was on his feet, being assisted to the staircase leading to the rear exit. What was left of Ellie's unit went ahead of them, ensuring the back of the warehouse was clear to escape. The sergeant herself was the last to leave, and she exchanged a knowing look with her Gallian counterpart.

"We'll get him out, too," Juno called up. For a moment, she dared to believe it.

In the poor lighting, she swore she saw Ellie crack a faint smile. The salute she gave was more certain, more resolute, and Juno didn't hesitate to answer it.

The engines grew louder, insisting their presence took precedence. Taking a deep breath, the scout leader began towards the entrance, motioning for Oscar and Alex to follow. They reluctantly fell in behind her, weapons in hand but pointed low and away. Juno let her borrowed rifle drop to the ground, hoping it would tip the scales towards not being shot.

Though she betrayed little fear to her friends, it was there nonetheless, and her imagination was working overtime preying on it. To her considerable chagrin, she had no trouble picturing what might happen the second she stepped outside, and what exactly a vehicle-mounted machine gun could do to the human body. The yawning warehouse entrance grew wider as she neared, and she could just make out pinpricks of vehicle lights in the darkness beyond. _It's our only chance_, she tried to assure herself, emphasis 'tried.'

"Set up by those trucks," she said, motioning to the intact armored vehicle closest to the entrance. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Hey, Juno?"

Alex's voice interrupted her determined stride, and for a fraction of a second she hoped, against all logic, that he had some last-minute idea; some nugget of advice that came from a lifetime of leaping before looking. She turned and faced him expectantly, keeping her face as straight as possible.

He just smiled. A simple, confident smile; maybe a lie, though it didn't look like it.

The night had tried its best to hurt them all, in body and spirit, and at times it did just that. Pain lingered in their wake, and uncertainty lay before them. Even if they were to be rescued instead of shot dead – even if Ballard could be stopped, and Freesia rescued – all they had to look forward to was another massive battle, on which the fate of their nation rested. And probably yet another one after that.

Somehow, Alex kept smiling. "Got your back," he said, and it didn't sound like empty, youthful bravado.

She began to smile back, though half her lip wasn't cooperating. A weary smirk would have to do. "Stay sharp, bird."

As Gallian 'reinforcements' drew nearer, Juno turned to face the music, stepping out of the opening and into the derelict warehouse yard. Her hands bent up towards the sky, palms flat to show she was defenseless, and before long the lead vehicle flicked its brights on her. She had to shield her eyes from the headlights, and heard more than saw as tires met gravel.

"Militia Squad 7! Hold your fire!" she called out, steeling herself for an unfavorable response.

The seconds that followed were figurative torture, which nonetheless was preferable to literal murder. Several of the vehicles came to a stop around the entrance, though she could hear others circling around the side. She could feel the eyes and weapons trained on her, heard the sounds of doors opening and boots hitting the ground.

She almost jumped at the sound of a voice instead of a gunshot. "Private Coren?"

Juno saw the lights dim, shining back towards the ground. Slowly, she lowered her arms and searched for the soldier addressing her, eyes adjusting to the flood of headlights. "Y-yes," she hesitantly answered, still expecting to be shot at any moment.

One of the men stepped forward, rifle brandished but not threatening. "Sergeant Roth, Charlie Company. We got your message, but we weren't expecting to find you here."

She had almost forgotten they sent one, and at the moment couldn't bother to remember what had been said. Her mind allowed the first tempting trace of relief, which got all the stronger, almost debilitating, as the soldier saluted her. She was all too happy to return it.

"We checked the town hall, but it was evacuated. To be honest, we weren't sure you made it. What in the world happened here?"

_Where do we even start,_ she wondered. "It's a… real long story, sergeant. We're all here, but one of our scouts is in trouble. There are still hostiles in the Vault below, we're going to need help."

"Ballard entered the Vault?"

Another figure emerged from the small cluster of soldiers, this one standing out immediately: stern no-nonsense face atop dark camouflage, hints of blonde hair creeping out from beneath her rolled-up balaclava, rifle on her back with conspicuous bloodstains on the stock. She wasn't personally intimidating, but her mere presence – and everything it implied – put an uneasy charge in the air.

Juno's stomach lurched in recognition, and this time her face couldn't hide it. "You…"

Garity approached the warehouse, paying her little mind. "Roth, I'll need some of your men to come with me," she said, her tone cold and professional. "Have the rest secure the floor and interrogate any survivors."

"Yes, ma'am!"

"What is going on here?!" Juno demanded, putting herself in Garity's way. "Who _are_ you?!"

The 'commando' barely blinked as she stepped around the scout leader. "You and your team are relieved, Private Coren. Everything is under control."

* * *

><p>The panel hissed and spat a few more sparks, protesting the attempt to inspect it and causing Freesia to recoil with a start. She hesitantly reached out and pushed the lever up, which answered only with the feeble, echoing groan of metal sliding in the rusted slot. Coated in yellow from the dying wall light, she looked up the ramp and watched Preston pound helplessly on the doors.<p>

"Guys, it's us!" he shouted. "We can't open it from here!"

Despite the door's age, its metal was thick and its seal tight enough to block all but the most determined noise. The shocktrooper slammed the butt of his gun into the door one last time, then sighed in defeat.

"No luck here, the panel's dead," said Freesia, face still flushed from the sprint.

"They'll have to open it from up there. I can't hear a damn thing, though." Preston came back down the ramp, gesturing to the dead commando. "What was this guy even doing? Why seal it up from the inside?"

"Probably going to warn the others. Your friend Parker, he said that there was an emergency exit somewhere down here."

From the sudden absence of calm in his voice, Preston had quickly connected the dots. "Oh… _shit._ You're positive?"

Freesia had a hunch at where those dots led to; namely, down the tunnel, which dead-ended at the open shaft of a massive cargo elevator. "He sounded pretty sure," she said, responsibility tightening coldly around her once more. "And your captain seemed to know all about the place going in."

The shocktrooper's eyes closed for a moment, eyelids flinching as if the very act was uncomfortable. "Great. What do we do now?"

"You're asking me?!" she snapped at him, more from panic; she had been about to ask him the same question. The psychological squeeze grew more insistent. "I'm the one that follows plans, not comes up with them!"

His eyes shot open and he quickly backed off, startled. "S-sorry, I didn't…"

Her outburst died quickly, and momentary embarrassment strangled her response. "No, it's… I just keep…" she trailed off with a short jerk of the head, struggling to explain. Too many words tried to get out of her mind at once, and now was hardly the time to try and organize them. "Nevermind. Let's just focus on getting out of here."

Preston looked at her with cautious curiosity for a moment, but soon abandoned whatever it was he was pondering. "Right. Well, we can either stay here and wait for someone to open the doors – and I think they'd have done it already if it was that easy – or…" he indicated the elevator shaft with a nod.

"Take our chances down there," she finished for him. "And probably run into them. Thirteen, counting your captain."

"Not the best odds we've had tonight."

Both silently considered the options, caught between helplessness and unknown risks. The mission had long been over, and Freesia could think of nothing less appealing than going after the renegade captain, even if that's where the exit was. All she wanted to do was get out and get as far away from this insanity as possible, leaving someone else to do something heroically stupid for once.

_This isn't me_.

There was time now, a luxury the dancer was rarely allowed these days. There were no split-second pressures or threats of imminent death to force her decision, and there would be no pretending to be anything other than what she was. Stay, and maybe get rescued. Go, and probably die trying to escape, all over something she barely understood.

_This isn't me_.

Freesia checked the ammo on her pistol, a standard-issue semi-automatic. Above all, she was never one to sit still, even when that seemed like the wisest course of action; never one to shirk responsibility, even if it should never have been hers. All her doubts, all her fears, all her aches and pains and insecurities couldn't so much as budge the needle.

For once in her short military career, she had time to choose, and she didn't need a second of it.

"So," she finally said. "Feeling lazy, or stupid?"

Preston had been inspecting his weapon, the magazine detached and the chamber open. The submachine gun had spent its last bullets, a fact made obvious as he tossed it aside. "I suppose not the worst odds, either," he muttered, policing the dead commando's weapons. "Stupid it is. Want the SMG or the pistol?"

"I'll take the pistol," she accepted the extra sidearm, stowing it safely. "So, do we have any kind of plan, or are we just going to wing it and hope for the best?"

"I say we sneak down there and try to quietly find the way out." He stood back up, wincing from some unspecified pain. "But I'll be honest, you probably have more actual combat experience than me. I'm only here because I can follow orders and nobody's going to miss me, so if you've got any ideas, I'm listening."

The subtle cynicism in the words prompted an appraisal of her comrade-in-circumstance. Ragnaid had closed the cut on his lip, but blood and grime still dotted his young face, and the bruise on his forehead wasn't going away anytime soon. Somehow he seemed clear-eyed and ready for action, but he still favored his right leg, and his hobbled posture accented the inch or two of height she already had on him.

For her part, the dancer wasn't faring much better. The side of her waist still stung from its injury, and she was badly in need of a high-pressure shower. Her arms and legs ached from the near-constant exertion, and she was secretly grateful to have dropped the rifle. Even if she didn't feel like the wrong person for this sort of thing – and she very much did – there was a limit to the abuse a body could take in one night, and she was fast approaching it.

Freesia took her first grudging steps towards the elevator shaft, Preston just behind and to her right. "Okay. 'Wing it and hope for the best' it is," she said, each footstep echoing just a little too loudly. The lack of good ideas didn't exclude the possibility of a less bad idea, and she couldn't be sure they had chosen it.

Preston shot a sidelong glance at her. "You sure you're ready for this?" he asked, finding the energy to sound concerned.

The answer was no – more accurately, 'are you kidding me, of course not' – but she wouldn't be the first to admit it. "Yeah, I'm sure. You?"

"I'm good." After a beat, he changed his answer, and there was a detectable quiver in his voice. "Well… not really, I'm a little nervous. Kind of freaking out, actually."

She let out a shaky sigh as the elevator drew near. "Good, I thought I was the only one. This sort of thing didn't really come up in basic."

"Yeah, I slept through FUBAR 101 myself. Then I broke a mirror and kicked a black cat for good measure."

Freesia managed a weak chuckle. "I'm not really a cat person, anyway."

They reached the elevator shaft before long, and Freesia peered warily over the edge. The shaft itself didn't go down very far, perhaps only thirty feet, and the first hints of non-yellow lighting trickled onto the lowered platform. A nearby console appeared to control the elevator, though the noise it had made going down suggested it was ill suited to a stealthy approach.

Amidst the time-worn tracks lining the walls, an old, solid-looking service ladder led down the shaft. Preston took the lead, taking a firm hold on the ladder before stepping off the tunnel mouth.

Freesia followed him, carefully planting each foot before bringing the other down. She couldn't stop from wondering about what lay below, and she indulged her curiosity to take her mind off the fear and fatigue. "Hey, you said your dad worked on stuff like this, right? What do you think is down there?"

"Can't say for sure. He supervised a lot of these projects, though. Some countries would rather parts of their history stay buried – especially when that history crosses a border or two."

"Like Gallia and the Federation. How'd you find out about all this?"

"Oh, that's a long story. Short of it is, some suspected that dad's death wasn't an accident. Nobody ever proved anything, but they did find evidence that the MoI falsified historical documents. Big scandal, was in the papers."

"And your dad was in on it?"

"Yeah. They found out stuff was hidden, they just don't know what, and it's assumed that was just the tip of the iceberg. That snake Townshend was even at his funeral. Wouldn't surprise me if he knew about this."

"Is that why you wanted to talk with him?"

"Well, one of the reasons."

There was a short pause in conversation, punctuated by the tapping of boots on rusting metal rungs. "I just can't believe all this is real," Freesia said, keeping her voice down as they descended. "I mean, fighting off the Empire was bad enough, but they trained us for that. All this conspiracy stuff… this is a whole new level of crazy."

"You said it."

The two finally reached the bottom of the shaft, Preston bringing his feet down softly onto a small maintenance gangway. With no apparent welcoming committee, he let out his held breath and stepped out of the elevator. Freesia took that as the cue to follow suit, dropping down off the ladder and drawing one of her pistols.

Before them stretched a wide hallway, easily big and tall enough to handle two trucks side-by-side. Past a small checkpoint and machine room, the hallway bent around a corner, presumably towards the vault proper. Both sets of eyes were drawn towards the corner, where a conspicuous red door marked 'emergency exit' lay in wait of a proper emergency. Loud clangs and the occasional shouted order pierced the air, and for the moment it seemed their entry had not been noticed.

Having spent most of the night surrounded by bullet holes, rubble, and corpses, the sight of steel walls and a stone floor unmarred by combat was oddly unsettling to Freesia. She thought back to the town hall, which had also looked suspiciously undisturbed. The brightness seemed especially strange, with the vault level lit up and fully powered; no long shadows or failing backup lights that shouldn't have been on anyway. Despite decades of grime, neglect, and stale air, the old complex had not been visited by the war, and was probably the cleanest place left in town.

There was something else in the air, too; a balmy malevolence borne of buried secrets that someone wanted to stay buried. Whatever lay at the heart of the complex, it was more than mere gold, and there were no shortage of hands seeking to claim it. The imminence of the situation was almost palpable, a paranoid sense of urgency that wasn't helped by the exit being in plain sight.

She glanced nervously at her companion, as if to check for one last time that they were on the same page. He nodded back and took point, the edge of his gun barrel trembling just slightly.

"Okay," she said, exhaling deliberately. "Let's check out the closing act."


	18. The Vault

**Things Left Behind**

A Valkyria Chronicles fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun

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><p><em>Notes: Heya folks! Yep, still around and kicking. A full-time school schedule proved a bit more demanding than I anticipated (though classes themselves are going well), causing a lot of projects to be tabled. Well, and there are these things called Steam sales. Speaking of which, Valkyria Chronicles on PC? Holy god damn, talk about things I never, ever expected to see.<em>

_Anyway, this is easily the hardest chapter I've had to write, since things are finally building to a proper climax. Above all I wanted to convey that less separates the key participants than any of them would like to admit, while also keeping the core mystery from overshadowing the main VC story. Fortunately, if the timeline is to be believed, there's plenty of wiggle room on that front._

_Special thanks to Parsat and DC20 for the glowing feedback. Believe me, I appreciate the comments, and one of these days I'll get to reciprocating them for the other fine authors in this section. In the meantime, read on, enjoy, and let me know what you think!_

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><p><strong>The Vault<strong>

Mission time: +5:18 hours, 04:26

* * *

><p>"<em>Such is the significance of the Valkyrur that, in their abrupt disappearance, they seemingly took large portions of Europan history with them. Gallia's founding is believed to have occurred late in the third century, though the dearth of concrete records suggest her culture and borders took centuries to clearly define; the name 'Gallia' is not itself used until the late ninth century. This information gap lacks for an explanation, with most historical analysis focused on the Valkyrur themselves.<em>

_Similarly, the enormity of the invasion of Gallia, to say nothing of revelations regarding the Valkyrur, made it easy to overlook the testimony of a lone militia scout. Even if details about the Rhodall Incident hadn't been deemed classified, one could make the pragmatic argument that, both during and after the war, Gallia simply had more pressing matters. Few could spare the time for the nuances of espionage, and fewer still for ancient history._

_Yet a hidden truth is no less true for the concealment, and a tragedy no one mourns is a tragedy still."_

_- Irene Koller, "On the Gallian Front"_

* * *

><p>The thrumming of a distant generator echoed throughout the spacious tunnel, which was large enough to accommodate vehicles side-by-side. The noise just barely concealed the gentle scraping of boots on grimy concrete. Every step forward was a labor of discretion, every unnecessary sound a grievous error, yet no cries of alarm came at their presence.<p>

Freesia kept her pistol pointed down the hall as Preston sliced the checkpoint door. Satisfied that the room hid no hostiles, he poked his head through and briefly searched for anything of interest. Finding nothing, he rejoined his Gallian partner and continued their slow advance. The process repeated for the next door, the elevator's machine room, which hid nothing but discarded tools and tattered workers' jumpsuits.

Doubt was, she hoped, normal for this situation. Her heart pounded at every step, while her head filled with moment-to-moment tactics, trying to prepare for any possible layout of the vault. She was mildly thankful the dark camouflage of the commandos would stand out against the steel walls and ample lighting, though it was a cold comfort considering their numbers.

Above the clamor, one voice spoke clearly, forcefully enough to silence the others. It could only have been Captain Ballard. "That will have to be enough. You have your orders! Move out!"

The dancer stopped in her tracks, silently motioning for Preston to hold up. _They're leaving, _she thought. _Did they hear the fighting, or are we too late?_

"You heard the man, let's go!"

Freesia reacted quickly, whirling back to Preston and almost pushing him through the nearest doorway. "This way!"

Together they ducked into the darkened room, hiding from the commandos; a dozen pairs of boots beating a hasty retreat. Dusty, decades-old machinery and furniture offered little more in the way of cover, but it was better than standing out in the open.

Freesia couldn't stop from shivering a bit, dread and anticipation coursing through her. Now was the time if they were going to play hero, and yet that was the last thing she wanted to do. They would effectively be pinned down once the shooting started, and she had a hunch the commandos could easily outlast them. One good grenade toss could flush the both of them out of hiding, and if they weren't killed instantly there'd be nowhere to run to.

_Escape first, everything else comes later._ That had been the plan – to the extent it could be called a plan – and as far as she was concerned she was sticking to it.

"Let 'em pass?" Preston asked behind her, and she bet that he was hoping the answer was 'yes'.

"Yeah, let 'em pass," she whispered. _Think invisible thoughts. They can't see us in here. They're in a hurry, they'll just pass right by._

The pained squeaking of rusted metal startled both of them; the old emergency door put to use as the commandos headed the other way. As the footsteps took off down what sounded like a narrow hallway, Freesia remembered they had taken trucks down the elevator, and clearly weren't leaving with them.

Realizing they weren't crossing paths just yet, the dancer dared to steal a glimpse of the hallway. She was just in time to see the last commando departing through the emergency exit door, a conspicuous duffel bag on his back. The door grudgingly pulled itself shut behind them, cutting off the retreating footsteps with another noisy squeak and heavy click.

She should have been relieved. In an instant their problem had turned itself inside out, their adversaries gone and the way out presumably clear. Ballard's men had certainly not left with the gold, or at least with a lot of it. Lag behind them, get topside, find Juno and the others, get back to Naggiar, and tell the whole story. It was simple, it was safe, and it was almost over.

She should have been relieved, but she knew better by now. Something was wrong.

With hushed words, Preston put it plainly: "Why does this keep getting weirder?"

She took in a long, slow breath, trying to calm herself; her white-knuckled clutch on the pistol firm enough to leave an impression in her palms. "Come on," she finally said. "We'll see if the coast is clear."

He silently fell in and the two emerged from the room, tired and tense. Both expected the other shoe to drop at any moment, eager to escape and yet dreading the answers they weren't seeking. All too quickly they reached the corner, where a thick iron support column jutted out and provided just enough of a hiding spot.

Freesia motioned for Preston to take cover as she stole a quick peek at the large vault antechamber. Longer than it was wide, the room was large enough to allow the two trucks to turn around, which indeed they had. There were no recognizable markings anywhere: no flags, no insignias, nothing more distinct than tire tracks in the grime. The same bluish-gray steel wrapped around the walls and ceiling, braced by sturdy support beams that had only begun to rust.

Unexpectedly, the vault itself lay wide open, flanked by a control station for the massive rectangular door. A disused forklift sat near one of the trucks, accenting the fact that the vault was open. From within, row after row of simple, unassuming crates sat waiting to be hauled away. The nearest one had been pried open, its golden contents just visible enough to beckon to the eyes.

The dancer felt an abrupt chill; a weight she recognized, if not fully understood. _So that's it_, she thought. _That's what it's all about._

Preston carefully leaned around her, taking his own appraisal of the vault. He inhaled sharply as he glimpsed the golden tip of the iceberg. "I'll be damned. There it is, all right."

"I don't see anybody," said Freesia, squinting as she scanned the few shadows in the room. The trucks were just enough cover to frustrate the search, and she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. "They sure sounded like they were in a hurry."

"Yeah, they must've heard something, booby-trapped the vault, or…" he trailed off with a frown, his train of thought derailing abruptly. "I don't know. This doesn't make any sense."

"All the more reason to get out of here."

"Couldn't agree more. I'll check the door, cover me."

She nodded back to Preston and readied her pistol. The commando took his first tentative step around the corner, eyes towards the antechamber for any hint of trouble.

Nothing.

Steps two and three likewise went without incident. Four, five, six; in full view now, daring whoever was left to take a shot at him. Still nothing came, and at last he felt confident enough to go for the exit. His hand fell on the heavy handle and gave it a firm tug.

The door didn't budge.

Freesia's heart sank. She could see him struggle with the handle, the faint rattling as it refused to turn. The door was locked. They truly were trapped.

He backed off with a frustrated sigh. "Of course. That'd be too easy, why would we want that?"

"Can we break it open?"

"It looks pretty solid," he said, shifting weight off his hobbled leg. "Look, it's an emergency exit. There's gotta be a key somewhere."

Positive thoughts were taking more and more effort, but Freesia found one more idea in the back of her mind. "Wait, they brought bombs down with them, right? Let's check the trucks, maybe there's something we can use."

"Worth a try. Let's go."

Less worried about noise now, the two made their advance towards the vault. The generator's rumbling grew louder within the walls, paired with the old creaking of ventilation fans in the ceiling. Preston dropped low and swept the underside of the trucks from a distance, watching warily for anyone in hiding. Freesia busied herself with the corners, eyes darting towards any imagined movement as they entered the antechamber. Neither saw anything that stood out, but it did little to ease the tension in the air.

Cautiously, Preston approached the rear of the first truck, Freesia close behind. She chanced to look up, however, and the sight stopped her in her tracks. For a moment, her heart followed her example.

"I think I found them," she muttered slowly, as if afraid her very words could cause the ceiling to collapse.

The commando turned and saw her staring up, and soon had his eyes on the same object: a conspicuous gray brick nestled against a rusting support beam. Its purpose might have been unclear if not for the faint blue glow of a ragnite charge sticking out of one side. Wires ran the length of the beam, leading to other well-concealed devices, and both of them quickly noticed that the other supports had been rigged the same way.

Preston gulped quietly. "Oh boy. That… looks bad."

All it was missing was a giant sign that read 'trap'. "I didn't see any tripwires or anything," said Freesia. "Are they on a timer?"

"I can't even tell. Dammit, where's Kiril when you need him?"

Without warning, another kind of ordnance filled the air. "Of all people, you show up first," said an all-too-familiar voice, too weary to sound properly surprised. "How interesting."

The dancer held in a gasp, almost glad her suspicions had been right. They spun sharply towards the vault, and they didn't have to see the speaker's dour, weathered face to know who it was. Freesia saw the silhouette against the well-lit entrance – seemingly unarmed, though one hand was wrapped around a small black box – and she had to fight the urge to pull the trigger right then and there.

"Captain," Preston said, bringing his weapon up to eye level.

"Easy son, I'm not here to fight."

Freesia was hardly convinced. "Then what are you here for?"

"Giving my worst," said Ballard simply. "Put your weapons down."

Preston ignored the instruction, his finger slipping into the trigger guard. "You've already made it easy for me, sir."

Despite the calm tone, Ballard's words carried a none-too-subtle menace. "I have made peace, private, but I suspect you have not."

He stepped forward from the vault door, and slowly raised his closed hand. By now the cracks were visible in his façade of cold professionalism, though he made a mighty effort to maintain it: a sad steel to his eyes, a trembling fist holding the small black device in a death grip. To Freesia he looked as though something inside had just vanished, leaving behind a haggard, exhausted man who could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Judging from the conspicuous red switch next to his thumb, that was likely not far from the truth.

Again he spoke, the detonator making it more than a request. "Your weapons, _please_."

Freesia and Preston traded nervous glances, each hoping the other had some bright idea and they were just being shy. With nervous reluctance, they bent slightly and let their weapons fall to the ground. At the captain's gesture the guns were kicked away, well out of immediate reach.

He grunted softly as the weapons skidded to a stop. "Hm. I'd feared Miss Coren had followed us," he said, sounding almost relieved. "She'll make a fine officer someday."

"What are you doing?" Freesia asked. Briefly she bristled at the thought of being more expendable, even if it was technically true.

Ballard slowly approached the pair, standing just under one of the rigged support struts. "Salvaging the mission. We heard the explosions and the ramp closing. Whatever happened up there, extracting the gold is clearly no longer possible. We took the next best thing."

"The evidence," Preston guessed.

The captain nodded. "Archives, excavation records, everything that even hints where the gold comes from; either gone, or in our possession. Our governments built this facility with the understanding that truth is as valuable as money. We shall see whether this is literally the case."

Curiosity was getting the better of the dancer, and she spared a second to wonder why Ballard was stopping to tell them this. She willed herself back to the plan. "Look, whatever this is about, we just want to get out of here," she said, defiant even while unarmed and with the exit locked. "Just give us the key and we'll leave."

"I wish it was that simple." His thumb anxiously rubbed up and down next to the button. "I can't risk exposure, not now, but I never meant to kill you."

Preston squinted at him. "All evidence to the contrary."

"I hid much from you, this is true, but if I had been waiting for either of you or your friends, we wouldn't be talking. Hel, it would have been easier to kill you all topside. No, son. I had every intention of letting you all live."

Freesia was officially stumped. Surviving the explosion and likely tunnel collapse would be unlikely, and even if they did there was still no obvious way out besides through the captain. Meanwhile, Ballard's point was hard to ignore; he could have had them executed earlier if it was that simple.

The captain seemed committed to his course of action, but he also seemed like he was willing, almost eager to talk. 'Stall for time' was as good a plan as any. "So," she asked, "what happens now? I thought you said this was something both countries wanted to keep secret."

"Control information, control the story," said Ballard matter-of-factly. "Both our countries kept a close eye on this facility, such that neither could completely scrub the gold's history. The invasion allowed us to adjust that leverage in our favor. A crude and morally bankrupt plan, and I don't blame you if you don't sympathize."

"Good, because we don't," Preston shot back.

"But the fact is, this will save Federation lives. Our soldiers on the front lines are underequipped and short on supplies. Support from member nations dwindles, and we're at the mercy of foreign trading cartels for every ragnite derivative, from fuel to medicine to ammunition. The only thing we have in abundance is steel, but a tank isn't going anywhere without gas."

"And you think that makes all this okay?" Freesia glared at him. "Stealing, blackmail, betrayal; it's all just fine because we're at war?!"

He stared right back at her, his stern voice heavy with contempt. "It's never 'fine' to shoot people, to plant mines, to bomb cities, to spray _fire_ on people. If this vault is proof of anything, it's that war is a madness that leaves none of our hands clean."

She flinched under his intense stare, trying to hold her ground. In her gut she resisted the words, but again they proved piercing and insidious. Her tongue sat as still as her fallen weapon, unable to summon even a token response, and for a brief, painful moment she truly wished Juno had been in her place.

"So what's the story with this gold, then?" Preston asked.

Ballard held his gaze on Freesia for a moment longer, then turned to his subordinate. "The gold is unmarked, but it quite visibly dates back centuries, before there was a Gallia as we know it. With the Valkyrur gone, their descendants – our ancestors – were left to their own devices; in their gods' absence, chaos. Many borders went through a few... revisions before settling into unified nation-states, and the feudal provinces that would become Gallia were no exception."

He paused for a moment, motioning back towards the open vault. "This is the material wealth of one of those provinces, and most likely the last evidence of its existence."

Preston glanced at Freesia, confused. "Doesn't sound too earth-shattering."

"If it's from that long ago," Freesia began, "why would that matter now?"

"The fact that you're asking that question means their plan succeeded. The documents compiled in this vault – the evidence we took – indicates this province did not join willingly, and technically did not 'join' at all. It was taken, with the aid of a neighbor to the south."

"The Federation?" she asked.

"One of its territories, also in its formative years."

"But most countries have stuff like this in their past," Preston pointed out. "You said it was chaos. What makes this so special?"

"The one thing all nations have in common is how rarely they ask a simple question about themselves: why they are who they are." Ballard looked to Freesia again. "Your country, Miss York, its policies of universal conscription, its independence, its aptitude at battle; hallmarks of a warlike people. All that's missing is the appetite. Isn't that strange?"

While history wasn't her specialty, Freesia did not like where the conversation was going. The captain had seemed stern and imposing when he was on their side, and now that quiet intimidation was making it hard to focus. She nearly squirmed in her boots trying to avoid eye contact, and almost didn't notice that his thumb had moved further from the switch.

"The province in question is not mentioned in any history book. Its name was expunged from record: its culture eradicated, its resources extracted, its land parceled out piecemeal between two greater powers. So complete was its destruction that only select records even acknowledge it ever existed, and both our people have gone to great lengths to lie to ourselves about it."

The horror of fallen comrades, the despair over destroyed cities, the anger of being seen as a scrap of meat between two hungry wolves; these were easy to grasp. The very scope of the problem before Freesia defied ties to such tangible things. An ancient conquest had been knowingly wiped from the history books, and the question that had lingered over every minute of their mission – the ever-evasive _why_ – suddenly exploded in size and meaning.

Ballard paused for breath, growing more animated with each word. "What we remember is a question asked by time and answered by history. Your origins, your neutrality; these are questions asked and answered, and the answer was that no one cares. You have your story: an isolated nation of warriors who never bothered anyone and only acted in defense. Your parents made you and then vanished, and to you they're just something else you don't remember."

The captain's withering words bored holes in Freesia, by chance striking a weak point she had hidden from so many. The girl she had been couldn't find the words to answer, standing limp and defeated. It was true, it was not true; it was complicated. She wanted him to stop. Her hands demanded a weapon, ached to wrap around his throat and silence him by force. She'd done her crying ages ago, and again, and again; never where anyone could see, each time telling herself it didn't bother her anymore. She was certain she had run out of tears.

For the girl that had been left behind, there was always one more. She sniffed, trying to hold it back. Now wasn't the time. Now was never the time.

Ballard faced Preston, who also seemed to wilt under the captain's gaze. "This gold, this stain on our collective past; it's just one piece of one story amidst countless stories, all doomed to be forgotten in the wake of greater things. Like all of us. All it is now is a means to keep our soldiers from starving. I suspect you would understand, if you could remember what they did to you after the accident."

"I was told how they settled the estate," the young soldier said quietly.

"But do you _remember_?" the captain insisted.

"…no."

"Of course not." The words were simple, leaden with meaning. "Therapy… is expensive."

The silence that followed couldn't hide a dropped pin. Preston didn't dare look at his former officer, and Freesia – battered inside and out – was losing the will to keep standing. One of her knees buckled just barely, the motion just enough to remind her of Ellie's pistol: less-than-safely stowed in a back pocket, but still hidden by her unkempt scout uniform.

She'd never been happier to have iron dig uncomfortably into her back. Ballard's thumb was no longer near the button. She just needed a proper distraction. Her eyes searched the room for ideas while she combed her thoughts for something to ask, something that might get the captain to look away, even for a second.

To her surprise, Preston spoke first, and firmly. "So why risk the mission?"

Ballard blinked, as if puzzled by the question. "I told you, I never wanted to..."

Preston cut him off, emboldened to meet his eyes. "Not just now, before. You let Kiril help the militia send out a message. You told Juno to tell her superiors about us. You let the militia squad come with us. Why risk it so many times if we need the money that badly?"

That seemed to put the captain off guard. His expression hardly changed, but Freesia could see his eyebrows twitch as he struggled with the response. "I… disagreed with some aspects of the mission," he said haltingly.

"What if the major had lived? You think he would have done the same?"

"What are you getting at, son?"

"It was the right thing to do, wasn't it? You got handed something you thought was wrong, and couldn't fall back on the chain of command. It all fell to you and you didn't know what else to do, so you wanted them to see this, didn't you?"

"Don't try to guess my thoughts," Ballard warned.

Preston continued, his voice never rising. "You said it yourself: there's more secrets like this out there. You take this money, and then what? War's over, no more crimes? You think it's an accident we tried to kidnap their princess, and we're going after this gold now?"

"It's to save _lives_."

"I know. You're right, I did sign up so I wouldn't starve in the streets, or end up in an asylum somewhere. And look where it got me: I'm gonna die anyway, stuck in some hole in the ground miles from home. So what was it all for?"

Ballard didn't answer. His eyes stayed on Preston but no longer seemed to be focusing on him, and his thumb slipped even further from the switch.

"You know, I knew I'd probably get killed," the commando confessed. "Part of me kinda wanted to, but I bit my tongue because I knew other people had it worse. Even now, this whole war, I feel like I can do my best and it won't ever be enough. But if I don't do my job, then that many more people die, or worse. Yeah, I get it, captain. This mission never sat right with you, but you carried on because people are depending on you."

Freesia had only paid partial attention to the back-and-forth, waiting instead for Ballard to make a move to her advantage. A pistol was hardly a marksman's tool and she'd have maybe a second to get a shot off – and she had to hope it was enough to stop him from hitting the switch. Still, there was something in Preston's voice she recognized; a resigned frustration that could only come from a self-aware cog in the machine.

Preston paused, swallowing with some difficulty. "The thing is… if you hide how you feel for too long, it hollows you out. You know something's wrong, but you can't put it to words. When you try…" his eyes drifted to the floor and he shook his head, "you don't even know where to begin. You just want to scream, but you keep it to yourself. You're so used to it that hiding it is all you can do, and it kills you one way or another."

The device grew slack in Ballard's hand. Freesia barely noticed, her own throat tightening once more. The words could easily have been her own.

"I pretended it all didn't bother me, but I had to know: about my dad, the scandal, the accident, everything, even coming from a son-of-a-bitch like Townshend." Preston cast a sidelong glance at Freesia. "I nearly signed up for the Randgriz mission because of it. I doubt I would've made a difference."

The dancer didn't have a hard time imagining the outcome. She'd shot two commandos herself and hadn't thought twice about it until now. It had even felt good, stopping the underhanded Federation and rescuing the Princess. It didn't seem quite so clear-cut now.

"I know what… they said about me after the accident," said Preston, his throat dry. "Because I don't remember them, I don't care. Because I don't mention it, it means nothing to me."

Through a strained voice, Freesia dared to complete the thought; another line she had memorized a lifetime ago. "Because I don't scream, it doesn't hurt."

Preston nodded, acknowledging the quote with haunted eyes. "I'm sorry, York. About everything."

"It wasn't your fault," she said softly, for whatever the thought counted.

Their attention returned to the captain. Whatever thoughts warred for his mind, his body seemed to have given up for good. His chapped lips were loosely parted and he stared off into the distance, his brow furrowed intensely. Crucially, the detonator switch lay unattended. If he had all but cut ties with thoughts of survival, his next course of action was anyone's guess.

He stammered. The battle-hardened, cynical patriot was long gone. "What… what do I do?" he asked weakly. It wasn't clear who he was asking.

"Captain, we're surrounded by what happens when the rot goes deeper," said Preston. "All the blood money in the world won't save us."

Freesia was reluctant to speak, sensing that one wrong word could topple the man in any direction. "You can still do the right thing," she carefully added, one eye on the detonator. "Just let us go."

Ballard's eyes closed, his head slowly inclining towards the floor. His shoulders sagged as he sighed heavily; a broken man coming to terms with the fact that he couldn't take that last step just yet. He took one last long look at the device in his hand, and – with a complaining groan – bent down to place it on the floor.

"I'll… surrender," he said, the word seeming to tumble from his mouth. "But private, I have one request. And you can say no."

"I'm listening."

Ballard jerked his head towards the vault. "Grab one of those bars. Get it to the Ministry's internal investigation unit. Proper analysis should confirm its age… older than any of us. It'll be enough to keep them from lying about it."

"Yes sir," said Preston respectfully, snapping an obedient salute. He then snatched up his submachine gun and moved swiftly towards the vault.

Turning to Freesia, the captain reached into one of his pockets and produced a small brass key. "As for you, I ask only what I already have: tell your officers everything. Hide nothing, and don't let them hide it either."

Freesia yet felt anxious, even with the detonator safely on the floor. Nonetheless she reached out and took the key from his trembling hand, assuming it led to the exit behind them. "Will do," she said with something approaching confidence.

Suddenly a loud _bang_ ripped through the complex, paired with the shriek of twisting metal. Freesia whipped around and saw smoke pouring in from the now-ajar exit; the door almost literally blasted off its hinges. A swarm of blue uniforms poured through the smoke and almost instantly leveled their weapons her way.

"Private York, get down!" shouted the lead trooper.

Ballard stepped forward, his hands in the air. "Hold fire, I surrender!"

Freesia had just pronounced the 't' in "Wait!" when the first Gallian rifle fired. It was all she could do to dive away.

Nothing in black was left standing.


	19. World Gone Mad

**Things Left Behind**

A Valkyria Chronicles fanfiction by Renfro Calhoun

_Notes: Hey all! Finally done with school, again, and we'll see if it takes this time. But enough about me. This section represents the last big hurdle in the story, since things could have come to a head in various ways. Since that describes a large amount of the story, you can imagine the difficulty at actually finishing the damn thing._

_Anyway, the original idea for this was a little more actioney; something of a final showdown/ escape envisioned alongside "Deeper" from the Frozen Synapse soundtrack. Like most things that are awesome in my head it didn't work out so well on paper, so I scrapped it and went with something slightly more restrained and character focused instead. Fortunately, the details lined up pretty well, and if anybody asks I totally planned it that way._

_Ah well. Read on, critique, and enjoy! Also, apologies if I missed any PMs or comments; some account hiccups led to a few messages apparently being lost. Any particular questions, hit me up and I'll answer them as best I can. Thanks!_

* * *

><p><strong>World Gone Mad<strong>

Mission time: +5:32 hours, 04:40

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><p>"<em>Obviously there was a difference in scale, but how else were Randgriz and Rhodall different?"<em>

"_The Ministry of Intelligence directs covert operations and has a number of field agents, but Federation commandos are trained by, and answer to, the military. The Ministry draws from these companies on an as-needed basis for special missions, some of which value expendability over unit cohesion."_

"_Like our own Nameless."_

"_Officially, I have no idea what you're talking about. Anyway, with Randgriz it seems Ambassador Townshend was in charge of the operation, as a liaison to the Ministry. With Rhodall – to the extent Captain Ballard was telling the truth – the chain ends with Major Dawes, or his direct superior. As unlikely as it sounds, it's not impossible that Intelligence had no formal hand in the latter mission."_

"_That's crazy. You're saying the army kept their own spies out of the loop?"_

"_We understand it to be the other way around: the Ministry didn't trust the intelligence, but didn't say why. It's likely they began to suspect the, ah… source."_

_- Recorded excerpt of interview, anonymous OSSRID official_

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><p>Freesia could only look on in horror as Gallian soldiers stormed the vault. Ballard's move to surrender had been in vain, and he now lay on his stomach with several bullet holes in him. Half a dozen rifles remained pointed at him, while two other men kept the dancer from approaching. Preston had vanished; perhaps into the vault, she hadn't noticed, though she hoped he had the sense to stay hidden.<p>

The situation had reversed itself so many times that she had lost her bearings, a tiny boat tossed between two competing storms. It was shock alone that kept her upright, and logic was doing its best to deny her even that. While the solders weren't actively threatening to her, she still suspected that someone in charge was going to decide she had heard and seen too much.

Amongst the dozen-odd people that now occupied the antechamber, one stood out in a commando's uniform. 'Lieutenant' Garity strode purposefully towards the carnage, sparing but a glance for the helpless dancer. The moment of eye contact was little insight to her thoughts; her expression stern, her brown eyes unwavering. Whatever this was, it was all business.

"He's still breathing, ma'am," reported one of the soldiers.

"Leave him to me," she coldly replied. "Check inside those trucks and secure the vault. If there's anyone inside, remove them – cleanly."

"Yes, ma'am. You two, with me."

Garity turned to another soldier. "Corporal, the protocols have been compromised. I want the combination changed and the vault sealed as soon as it's clear. And send an engineer to open the ramp doors, we need to get these trucks out of here."

Soldiers scampered off as ordered, leaving Garity standing alone over the dying captain. She bent down and spoke softly, as if for Ballard's ears alone. Freesia was just close enough to hear: "Your people didn't get far."

The captain shuddered painfully, wheezing as the life drained out of him. "Good," he coughed out, struggling to form the word.

Garity frowned, just faintly, as if puzzled by the response.

"He was surrendering."

To her own ears, Freesia's words were those of a cornered animal poking its own predator, wondering what the hold-up was. She flinched briefly as the lieutenant rose up and faced her, tall enough to stare down at the dancer. Again the look was hard, but dispassionate; that of a busy office clerk deciding where to file something unwelcome.

"He was trespassing," Garity said. "They weren't supposed to get this far."

"What do you mean 'supposed to'? You _planned_ this?!"

"That's above your clearance, Private York. Your mission here is complete. You and the militia team will be escorted back to the Naggiar command post for debriefing."

A few hours ago those words would have been music to her ears. Now they felt like a condescending brush-off, a vaguely irritated dismissal. Freesia stared back at the 'commando', determined to get at least one straight answer. "Wait a minute, who are you? What is going on here?!"

Garity hardly budged, though there was a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. "Get her out of here," she ordered before turning away.

"Vault's clear!" shouted a soldier from within. "We're good to seal it!"

One of the dancer's guards motioned for her to follow. Reluctantly she complied, her steps heavy and legs aching. A chance twist too far reminded her of the grazing wound along her waist. The sight of supposedly friendly uniforms, if not exactly comforting, had all but drained her will to fight. Merely a spark of curiosity remained, wondering if what Ballard had said was true.

More shouts, the soldiers confirming their exit; the massive vault door began to noisily grind its way shut. The thought of Ballard chained to another. _Wait, where's Preston? Didn't he go into the vault?_

"What the- contact! Shit, he's got one of ours!"

"No sudden movements!"

_Guess that answers _that_ question._

The door continued its slow, wide swing, sliding into place with a ground-shaking thud, and the clanking of ancient gears signaled that its contents were, once again, out of sight. Yet the shouts were loud enough to stop her guards in their tracks, and before long almost every Gallian weapon was pointed near the door's control station: a wall-mounted panel, presumably closed by the soldier that now found himself a human shield.

For once, Preston's smaller size was an asset. Backed against the wall next to the panel, his eyes barely poked over the shoulder of his captive, who desperately looked to his colleagues for help. Though the hold around his neck was less than secure, he dared not struggle; anything short of precision fire would kill him first.

The back of the truck blocked most of Freesia's view. One of her guards had run to join the commotion, and she felt free enough to move to a better vantage point, ignoring the protest of her remaining guard. Soldiers quickly swarmed from all available angles, effectively trapping Preston. There was no way out.

"Let him go! Drop the weapon!"

"So you can gun me down, too?!" he shouted back.

"There's nowhere to go, Fed. Give it up!"

The guard got in front of Freesia, again urging her to leave. "Come on, Private York, let's go."

She ignored him and continued watching, unable to even choose words, much less speak them. The Gallians had all but executed Ballard, and it was clear they'd do the same with Preston in a heartbeat. Garity's gaze fell on the young commando, and if her stony expression was any indication, a hostage wouldn't hold her off for long. As if to emphasize the point, soldiers moved in from the sides, tanking the best flanking positions available.

"Whatever you hoped to do, soldier," she began tersely, "you've failed."

Preston stared back, his voice calm but panic in his eyes. "You set us all up at the hospital. You shot a man trying to surrender. You murdered the major."

"I did what my country asked me to do."

"Been hearing that a lot tonight. Was that thing at the town hall yours, too?"

"You're not getting out of here."

_It's happening again._

The realization struck Freesia with the precision of a born sniper. Her body had been ready to leave this behind hours ago, yet no thought she could conjure silenced the voice of doubt. Once more, that nigh-suicidal impulse reared its head; that urge to ignore the crushing pressure, ignore every sane thought she'd ever had, and take action because no one else would, or could.

Preston and his people were indeed trespassers, agents of a foreign government that had tried to kidnap princess Cordelia. Among them were traitors of their own, one of whom lay bleeding to death not far from where she stood. And right now, Freesia trusted them more than the Gallian troopers that had come to her 'rescue'.

The guard grabbed her arm, and he was strong enough to pull her along by force. The action jarred her out of her thoughts, back to the suffocating madness around her. Committed to action, she struggled to find an action to take; knowing both Ballard and Preston would be killed the second it was convenient to do so, taking the last grains of truth with them. Ellie's pistol was still just a quick draw away, but it wasn't nearly enough firepower to stop everyone in the room at once.

As she was pulled along she saw Ballard again, sprawled on the floor and clinging to life. Only one of his guards had remained with him, distracted by the spectacle near the door. The captain coughed into the grimy floor, blood trickling from his mouth, and he briefly caught Freesia's eye.

He lifted his arm, just slightly, revealing a small object tucked under his shoulder: black, rectangular, a glimpse of a red button.

_The detonator!_

The captain had somehow fallen onto it safely, his body concealing it from the Gallians. Garity hadn't seen the explosives planted above them, her attention fixed on the vault and, now, Preston. Ballard's trap was still live and ready to spring.

She didn't remember making a conscious choice to go for the device. Somehow she tuned out the cacophony of inner voices, telling her what a stupid idea this was as she slipped out of the guard's grasp. A traffic jam of competing ideas and impulses erupted in her mind as she sprinted for Ballard's body, every footfall amplifying the pressure and making her thoughts even louder. The voice of her guard barely registered; she dropped to the floor, slid a hand under Ballard's arm, and snatched the device out from under him.

With what was left of her grace and agility, she scrambled to her feet and got out of arm's reach. A moment of fumbling and it was her thumb on the button, and her voice commanding everyone's attention.

"NOBODY MOVE!"

It felt horrifying, wrong, invigorating; a twitch of her thumb and she could vaporize everyone in the room, herself included. A tiny part of her hoped she truly had gone insane and was no longer in control of herself. As every eye and weapon turned her way, however, the sense of instinctive action left; her body's autopilot handing the controls back, saying 'oh no, _you_ deal with this one'.

Garity moved in front of the ring of soldiers around Freesia. "Private York, what the Hel are you doing?" she asked. Through the air of professional disinterest and mild frustration, there was a hint of genuine confusion.

With death a twitch of a finger away, the dancer indulged in a flippant reply. "Scout training got one thing right: you'd be surprised how rarely people look up."

At her comment, one soldier dared to do just that, his attention soon drawn to the ceiling's more conspicuous features. A muted panic spread through the group as they realized their predicament, each trying to suppress their reactions. Even Garity couldn't stop from a faint gasp upon seeing the charges.

Freesia tried to project authority; the shout had put a bit of a croak in her voice. "Let him go, now."

The soldiers took more guarded postures, weapons still pointed but less eager to fire. "Don't be stupid, private. We're on the same side here," said Garity.

"Are we?" Freesia challenged. "You're murdering people. I don't even know who you are."

"I'm with the Office of State Security. We're trying to contain a delicate situation, and we need your cooperation, nothing more. Stand down."

"You're trying to silence them. You're trying to bury what happened here."

Garity's eyes bored into the dancer, frustration giving way to something approaching anger. "And one thing _my_ training got right is to know when someone is bluffing. I won't ask again, Private York. Stand. Down."

Bravado quickly left Freesia; the detonator might as well have been a drawing of one. Garity wasn't buying the threat, and at any moment her alleged comrades-in-arms might decide they can stomach shooting one of their own. Her heart pounded at a breakneck pace, sweat beading on her forehead as she scrambled, again, for anything that resembled an idea. Breaths became shallow, the world around her indistinct, and for a moment the silence was broken only by the white noise of her own thoughts.

For a moment, it was Barious all over again.

"Private."

She made a fist with her free hand, remembering that her arm wasn't broken. One finger still twitched involuntarily. _Barious… Batomys… Selvaria. I wasn't ready. Who could have been?_ Something clicked in the back of her head, and again the thought came: _Who could have been?_

"_Private!_"

The shout startled Freesia, but she kept her composure. The memory had given her an idea, born of a what-if that supposed she had settled on another kind of performance art. It was a long shot; she hadn't stepped on stage as something other than a dancer in years, and never with so much riding on it. Drawing a deep breath, she faced her audience and got into character, a strange, faraway look in her eyes.

"I'm not going back out there," she said, her voice just above a whisper. "We're all gonna die at Naggiar."

Garity blinked. "What?"

"At Barious, they threw a tank at us, big as a house, and I wondered how it could get worse. What else could the Empire throw at us? Well, we found out."

"That's irrelevant, private," said the lieutenant, trying to stay focused. "Put the detonator down."

Freesia continued, forcing a quiver into her words. The fear was true enough to make it easy. "The Valkyria. Y-you can't imagine how powerful she is. S-s-she tore through Faldio's unit like they weren't even there. Before I even knew what was happening… half the squad was on the ground. Guns, tanks, bombs – d-d-didn't even slow her down; that lance, burned through everything."

She paused to swallow for effect. Her thumb rested on the button, careful not to squeeze too hard. The button shifted ever so slightly and it was enough to stop her heart for a moment. "I can still smell it. Still hear it," she added, borrowing the stress and weaving it into the act.

Garity's eyes went back and forth between Freesia's face and hand, connecting the state of mind with the state of thumb. "Listen, it's going to be okay," she said, finally trying empathy. "We have a plan."

"They can't be stopped. They're going to kill us all. I'm not going back, you can't make me."

"Private York, calm down!"

Freesia's body shook, repressed fear and anger working their way out through the scars Barious had left in her. "I'm not going back!" she shouted, her eyes locked in a thousand-yard stare that wasn't entirely an act.

"We have a plan!"

"_I'm not going back!"_

Even Garity was yelling now. "We know about the Valkyria! We can stop her!"

It took Freesia a moment to realize her audience was taking her seriously. A sharp pain in her hand told her how tightly she was clutching the detonator, likely leaving a mark even through the glove. She took a short breath, trying to calm herself down. She didn't want to know how close she had come to talking herself into pushing the button.

"I'm telling you the truth, we're on your side!" Garity urged; self-preservation had put the human back in the spy. "Who do you think sent your unit to Barious in the first place? Who do you think let Lieutenant Landzaat into the museum? We know about your sergeant, and we can stop the Valkyria!"

Still cooling from her act, Freesia wasn't sure she'd heard Garity right. _Museum? Does… she mean Alicia? What's she talking about?_ She didn't know how much time she'd bought, but she doubted it was enough for the many questions she had.

"How?"

"It's classified, but everything we've done is to secure Gallia's independence," said Garity. "Even tonight, it was all for Gallia. You have to trust us."

In Garity's words, Freesia could hear the same argument that Ballard had made. It gave her an opening. "How can I?" she asked, her voice still shaky.

The look on Garity's face said it all: eyes wide, jaw clenched, brow furrowed. Her own breaths were short, strained, fueling what had to be a furious internal debate over what to do. There was no doubt in Freesia's mind that she would have had them all killed if she could, and it was perhaps only the fear of mission failure and death – not necessarily in that order – that kept her at bay.

When she at last spoke, her words were quiet, but hard, and undeniably hostile. "Let them go."

"Lieutenant?" another soldier questioned.

"I said, _let them go_," she practically seethed.

As attention returned to Preston, the Gallian troopers reluctantly lowered their weapons. The commando hesitated, glancing at Freesia, trying to gauge whether this was an actual plan or the mother of all lucky breaks. He carefully let go of his hostage, keeping his submachine gun lowered and finger off the trigger as he left the control panel.

Freesia avoided eye contact with the other soldiers, but she could feel the harsh, humorless stares on her. She made her way to Ballard, still holding the detonator, and the seconds it took for Preston to join her still felt too long.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said unconvincingly. "He's still alive, can you help him up?"

"I'll try."

The commando slung his weapon and dug out his ragnaid dispenser, making a quick patch job of the most obvious wounds. Mercifully, Ballard had avoided a hit to the spine, though it was clear the bullets had struck something vital. The best Preston could do was stop some of the bleeding.

Ballard twitched and coughed loudly; it was likely too little, too late. "Just… ugh, just leave me, son."

"C'mon captain, we gotta move."

Freesia did her best to keep the soldiers at bay, buying time for Preston to guide Ballard to his feet. Together the three backed away from the scene, leaving the antechamber. "I'll put it down when we're out the door," she said, more to remind herself than to inform her fellow Gallians.

Garity stared daggers at her, but said nothing. The crowd moved with them but kept their distance, weapons still pointed at the floor, waiting for the first opportunity to stop their escape.

With an arm around the captain, Preston made a beeline for the emergency exit. Freesia brought up the rear, trying to ignore the possibility that Garity might change her mind. The dancer was fresh out of plans; she still couldn't fully believe this one had worked.

"Almost there, sir. Easy, I gotcha."

Watching the soldiers like a hawk, she didn't notice the flash of movement to her left until it was too late. A pile of muscle in a blue uniform barreled into her, engineer's tools clanking as he grappled for the detonator. Caught off guard, she cried out in alarm, and the detonator was knocked free and towards the floor.

"Oh, _shit!_" Preston instinctively reached out with one arm, trying to pull the engineer off Freesia without losing his hold on Ballard. It was futile; he couldn't do both at once. The captain slipped free and fell to the ground.

The distraction was enough for Freesia to push back against her attacker. She reeled back and socked him in his square jaw, a clumsy strike that probably hurt her hand more than him. Nonetheless his grip on her loosened, allowing her to twist completely free, and not a second too soon. As she darted away, she heard the order she'd been dreading since Garity had arrived.

"OPEN FIRE!"

Freed of Ballard's weight, Preston was forced to scramble away as a hail of bullets rang out from the antechamber. He hefted his own weapon and triggered a burst at the stunned engineer, taking him down for the count.

Once again, they were separated: the two on opposite sides of the hall, with Ballard on the ground between them.

"Captain! York!" Preston shouted uselessly, taking cover in the exit doorway. He took a few blind shots and was answered overwhelmingly, forcing him back.

Ballard rolled his head around, glancing up at Freesia. The gunfire continued, enough to keep her behind cover as well. A bullet struck his leg, drawing an agonized grunt from his exhausted lungs. She could dash for the exit – she'd made longer runs, with covering fire – but there was no way to pull the captain to safety.

Tears spilled from his cold blue eyes, blood trickling from between his lips; he'd bitten something when he fell. His gaze tracked to the detonator, dropped just out arm's reach, then back to Freesia. The implication was clear, and he almost seemed relieved.

"Go," he croaked, pleaded, his arm twitching as he prepared to move. "We need… more like you…"

She gulped, nodding weakly. With eyes to Preston she shouted, "Cover me!"

Preston was eager to provide, bending slightly out of cover and emptying the clip in a series of bursts. Freesia launched herself across the hall, minding Ballard's body and ignoring the return fire as it sailed around her.

Despite the din, she heard Ballard continue as she passed. "More… like her, and… less like me…"

With the gun empty, Preston flattened himself against the exit wall to allow Freesia to pass. He took one last look at his captain before turning to follow, joining her in a sprint down the narrow passageway.

The dancer took in only scant details: a hallway leading to stairs, stairs leading to a ladder, dim white lighting and rust on anything with metal. She had no way of knowing how powerful the explosion would be, and didn't want to guess; no goal except to put as much distance from the Vault as possible. She heard Preston panting behind her, and struggled to take in stale, dusty air as she climbed the stairs. By contrast, her normally chaotic thoughts were crystal clear, with every nerve in her body on the same page: _get out now!_

It was no distant rumble and a boom. The ground beneath them shook as if the entire world was thrown off its axis, lights flickering and blinking off, cracks forming in the ceiling. The explosion roared like an enraged, dying monster, closing the facility's murderous history with one final act of defiance. Concrete and steel collapsed far behind them, sending a plume of boiling dust through the narrow hallway, and their ears were filled by a deafening refrain of crushing and crumbling and clanging.

If there was anything left, it was now being buried under tons of burning rubble. Freesia was simply grateful the ladder appeared intact, though she was certain she felt one of the rungs pop loose from the wall.

Her arms felt heavier than the manhole cover she had to push aside, its locking latch thoughtfully left open. As the heavy lid grudgingly shifted, she caught the first taste of fresh oxygen in what felt like days, and at that moment there was no sweeter scent in the world. The air gave her the boost she needed to haul herself out of the hole, where she promptly tumbled onto the ground and took a faceful of grass. She would have kissed every blade.

Preston climbed up behind her, and fatigue got the better of him as well. Collapsing onto his back, he let out a long, heavy sigh, triggering a hacking cough. Freesia could only just hear it through the ringing in her ears. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the morning sky, still deep blue, but beginning to brighten along the horizon.

She laughed – feeble, drained, and draining – and didn't quite understand why. A glance at Preston told her she wasn't alone, the commando's arm covering his eyes and mouth bent into a weary grin. There would be time to process it all later. They were battered, scarred, sweaty, and caked in decades-old dust; but alive, very much alive. The pain could wait for a moment.

"We made it," he said between ragged breaths. "We made it."


End file.
